


The Adventures of Sir Leonhardt

by Feuerrot



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Amnesia, Arthurian!AU, Beau hides her gender, Beau!Squire, Caleb!Wizard, Catleb, Critical Role Character Cameos, Curses and Fairy Tales, Fae & Fairies, Freeform, Human!M9, Magic Animals and Botany, Molly!Knight, Other, POV Multiple, Rest of M9 join along the way, Self-Indulgent, Starting the Romance Stuff with Arc 2, problem solving
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2020-06-03 12:59:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 73,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19464505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feuerrot/pseuds/Feuerrot
Summary: Known to most as Sir Maurice Leonhardt, Mollymauk has had quite  a few years. Waking up with no memories but a very big name to his person, he made the best of it and assumed the identity of the knight he seems to once have been.After three years of relearning most of his knightly skills and travelling through the counties of England, he is called to the court of Lord Belvedere, who has a quest for the knight. A mage sent from Camelot has ended up cursed into the form of a cat and the Lord asks him to escort the mage back to Camelot.For his journey, Sir Leonhardt is joined by his new squire Beau and the maid Nott, who seems to be the only person the cat trusts.Follow Sir Leonhardt on his travels to complete the quest, see him fight with highwaymen, break curses and barter with fairies. Only to name a few of the daring trials he has to face.





	1. Sir Leonhardt receives his quest

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome y'all to a land of fairy tales, brave knights and even braver squires, where mages throw fire and banish evil into gnarled trees for centuries.  
> Dive into the deep dark forests and drink the clear water from the murmuring brook to see in it's depth the sparkles of fay.
> 
> I hope you enjoy :)

“You may announce that Sir Leonhardt has arrived.” He declares as a skinny page grips the reigns of his horse.

The sun is shining down on his shimmering armor, blinding anyone in his vicinity. A servant runs off to report his arrival. Gently, Sir Leonhardt nudges a servant aside, whose hands are outstretched to accept his pack. He gets off his horse and tries not to be touched by the man’s filthy attire or hands. Not that it would bother him, but the armor had only recently been cleaned.

“Please, take good care of Bo. Give him a nice rub, he earned it.” Sir Leonhardt addresses the page and pats the light brown stallion, who shakes his darker mane.

His fetlocks normally bleed into a dark ebony but are now gray with dust and dried up mud.

“And clean him up.”

Sir Leonhardt gently strokes Bo’s velvety nose and then waves at another waiting page. The boy is about twelve years old if he had to guess and his cheeks are blushing with eagerness.

“Please lead me to your liege.” He says to the boy.

He grasps his pack tight and strides forward, following the bouncy shock of brown hair over the busy court of the castle. All around him people are doing their duties, carrying baskets or herding life stock. Squires are training in a secluded area, a solemn figure watching over them. He has broad shoulders and short black hair, scars run across his face. Sir Leonhardt snaps at the page and gestures towards him to wait. Then he lifts his visor and walks closer to the figure, keeping a close eye on the sweating boys circling each other with wooden swords in hand. Some are slower than others, their eyes blank or distanced while others still look sharp and twitch as their opponents balance their weight for the next step. The instructor notices Sir Leonhardt approaching from the corner of his eyes and slightly turns towards him with a nod.

“Good morning to you good Sir.” Sir Leonhardt greets the broad man.

He looks down on him, his leather doublet old and worn. It creaks as he moves in it.

“Good morning to you too. May I ask your name?”

“I am Sir Leonhardt of the Emerald Lake, it is a pleasure. And you?”

“Sir Leviticus, I am training these squires to become valiant knights.” His gaze glides back to the panting boys, some now smiling now.

“Though they seem sluggish at the moment I deem them to hold great potential.” The broad man grunts, pointing with his sword at one of the bigger boys and waves him towards another opponent.

Sir Leonhardt nods, singling out two or three boys he thinks will make fine fighters in the future. Too bad he is not looking for a squire right now.

“Sir Leviticus, I admire your work and would very much like to talk to you. Will I be seeing you at this evening’s meal?” Sir Leviticus furrows his brow, absentmindedly scratching at an angry red scar that bisects his eyebrow.

“Most of us don’t dine in the Great Hall, it is only for special occasions. But if you so wish, Sir Leonhardt, I may arrange for you to come to my quarters. I’ll be hosting a meal for several other valued friends of mine, knights as you and me.” Sir Leonhardt inclines his head in thanks.

“I’ll gladly join your round. Thank you. Now I will have to make my appearance before your liege.”

Sir Leviticus nods towards him and turns around to bark a command to drop their swords and stretch at the boys.

Inside the castle walls, Sir Leonhardt takes of his helmet and shakes out his dark hair, almost black in the shadows. Only in direct sunlight does it offer a blueish tint, like rich ink fresh from the well before it sinks into parchment. His brown eyes glint dangerously, their hue sometimes resembling a dark red color. Two maids pass him and whisper behind his back, making him smile.

Self-consciously he brushes a lock from his forehead behind his ear. He cut it fashionably short, the ringlets framing his elegant jaw and high cheek bones. Making his way past thick stone walls in the cool air, his armor clanks and rattles but he walks with pride, parading his social station. He has his pack slung over his shoulder, walking with feline grace and purpose. The page from triples in front of him, sharply turning corners and walking with his back straight and rigid.

They end up before a huge wooden door, made of oak and carved with a beautiful hunting scene. One of the guards heavily pounds their halberd on the stone floor and the page pushes the door open. It creaks and presents Sir Leonhardt with the view of a round room, lined with small windows and hung with rich tapestries.

Inside, a massive wooden table dominates his view, two men sitting side by side, studying a map intently. In the right corner a bard sits on a stone bench, quietly tuning his lute while his head moves softly with the slow tapping of his foot. A huge feather moves on his hat and Sir Leonhardt wonders which animal produces such a huge thing. And where he could get one himself.

He confidently strides into the room and stops before the rectangular table, the page rushing forward to announce him. Both men look up at him at once, mustering him with bright eyes and something alike eagerness in their faces.

“Sir Leonhardt” One of them raises his voice, he is clean shaven and has chestnut hair, a heavily adorned necklace circling his shoulders sparkles with the movement of his chest.

He wears a deep red vest and a finely crafted sword hangs at the left side of his hip.

Sir Leonhardt bows with a flourish, setting his pack down.

“Lord Belvedere. I heard there was a noble quest to be taken care of in this castle.” He says, keeping his eyes on the floor.

“Indeed, Sir Leonhardt. We have a quest of utmost importance for you and we trust you to be secretive about it. Caution is very important in this matter, these news are not to be known widely.”

Sir Leonhardt smiles, the perfect picture of a valiant knight, though he feels a slight prickle run down his neck.

“We do trust you on this Sir Leonhardt. But know that if you should fail us there will be dire consequences for you.” Lord Belvedere furrows his brow and looks at Sir Leonhardt with a cold stare, brokering no argument.

Sir Leonhardt swallows, straightening his back.

“I am aware, my liege. I will do my utmost to fulfill your request.” A nod.

“Grendel.” Lord Belvedere lifts his hand and waves at a middle-aged man with a green tunic.

“Bring him in.” The man nods and vanishes through a small side door.

The other man at the table looks doubtfully at Sir Leonhardt, his eyes wandering over the knight’s appearance.

“As shiny as ever I see. I have not once in my life have seen you dirty or less spectacular, Sir Leonhardt.” He muses, drumming his fingers on the table.

“As a knight of the King, I am to represent him adequately, Court Master Corvus.” Sir Leonhardt bows once more.

As the Court Master opens his mouth to say something else, a scrabbling sound his heard from beyond the door, through which the servant had vanished.

A yowl and then a bundle of fur tumbles into the room. It scrambles off into a corner, only to find that the room is round and therefore without corners. It whines pitifully and decides to try and seek shelter underneath the table. Only to be held by the scruff by the reappearing Grendel. A scratch is bleeding on his cheek as a new addition to his face. The bard meanwhile has scrambled up on his bench, clutching the lute like a shield.

“Here he is, my Lord.” He huffs.

Sir Leonhardt intently looks at the shivering mess of dirty pelt and matted hair.

“My Lord?” He asks and looks back at Lord Belvedere.

“What is this thing?”

“This thing as you call it, once was a powerful mage that was sent to us by Merlin himself.” Court Master Corvus gestures towards the animal.

It hisses and seems to deem Grendel to be a better friend, deciding to hide behind him. Grendel promptly lunges down to grapple it again. Looking at it closer, it starts to resemble a cat with big blue eyes and even larger ears, very long legs and a bushy tail. It’s fur is matted but specks of copper and brown shimmer through the dirt.

“A powerful mage you say? Must be in quite a pickle then.” Sir Leonhardt wonders, eyeing the former mage.

The cat eyes him sharply, then hisses. It wiggles in Grendel’s hold until he realizes it. It dashes off to seek once more shelter underneath the table. It howls loudly as Grendel sets after it and catches it before it can vanish. The poor man flinches when his arm is being scratched to hell, the thing fighting with its claws as a wild cat. Grendel loses his grip and the mage scrambles to fit himself underneath the stone bench, scaring the bard off to the other side of the room.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” A rough voice echoes from the corridor and a middle-aged woman weasels in, batting at Grendel.

“You’re doing it all wrong! Never listen to me!”

“Nott, really, even if I had- “

The woman, Nott apparently, shushes the man and slowly walks towards the former mage who loudly meows from underneath the stone.

“Shh, everything is alright. Come on, it’s just good Nott here, hmm? You know Nott, she gives you the goodies, you want goodies?” Her hand plays along the pouch dangling from her belt, glowing eyes follow it from underneath the bench.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the creature creeps forward until he sits at her feet, coming to the same height as Nott’s hip, although cowering. He sniffs and his whiskers shiver in the air.

“Good boy, you earned some goodies.” Nott croons, pulling a piece of dried meat from the pouch.

Now that he is not running about anymore, Sir Leonhardt is able to take more details in. He wrinkles his nose while looking at all the dirt and whatever else clings to the fur. Its body is lean and muscular like any feline and he has a grace to his movements as well as the way he holds his tail in a neat curve.

“What am I to do with him?” Sir Leonhardt returns his gaze to the Lord and the Court Master. Both look rather doubtfully as the mage lets Nott scratch him behind the ears.

“We need you to bring him to Merlin. We can only hope that he will be able to break whatever accursed magic has turned the man into this creature.”

“What is his name?” Sir Leonhardt inquires.

“We’d rather not say.” Corvus speaks up.

“Knowing who he is might either endanger us or him. You only need to know that he is a pupil of Merlin’s and we have direct order from the Archmage to bring him to him. Unharmed.” A tight-lipped smile plays over Sir Leonhardt’s face.

“Then put him in a crate and load him onto the next wagon headed to Camelot. I’ll escort it.” He suggests, hand resting loosely on his sword pommel.

“No such thing will be done.” Lord Belvedere interjects.

“We don’t know if he is sentient enough to remember whatever happens to him in this form. I will not throw a potent mage into a crate like mutton.”

“With all due respect, my lord. Is he supposed to ride on my horse with me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be posted on July 10th.
> 
> Until then :)


	2. Sir Leonhardt spends an evening in company

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for kudos and giving this story a chance :)
> 
> Some other knights invite Sir Leonhardt for an evening of gossip and revelry.

The mage is supposed to ride on a horse, together with Sir Leonhardt and Nott.

Lord Belvedere schedules Sir Leonhardt’s departure with the cursed mage and Nott for the day after tomorrow. Two Pages show Sir Leonhardt to his chambers and at the same time the invitation to attend Sir Leviticus’ meal gathering is extended and accepted. After three pages bustled through his chambers and finally left him with a burning fire place, a fresh bucket of water and out of his armor, Sir Leonhardt is finally able to sit and relax.

He takes a clean rag to polish the silver plates of his jambeau, tapping his feet lightly on the stone floor while he works. Looking at his own reflection he breathes in deeply, feeling the stress of travel fall from his shoulders and he leans back into his chair. A mage, imprisoned in a feral form, no one knowing how it happened. And it had to be the pupil of grand Merlin himself. The culprit could be someone who simply wished to harm Lord Belvedere, maybe it was an accident. Or the enemies of King Arthur had landed a vital strike against one of his vassals. Lord Belvedere had made it clear to Sir Leonhardt, that he had six weeks at most to bring the mage to Camelot.

He continues to clean his armor and afterwards lays out his outfit for the evening, a soft white tunic and brown pants, paired with his trusty leather boots and a finely embroidered, golden jerkin. Over the bucket he splashes his face with water and washes off the grime and dirt of travel, combing through his locks with dripping hands. Scars run over his body, Sir Leonhardt’s eyes fly over them, familiar with their forms and places but none the wiser about their origin. Only a few had found their way into his skin under his ministration, one ran a hand’s width over his hip bone and another up his side. With gentle fingers, Sir Leonhardt traces them, shivering in the cold air. Shaking himself out of his reverie, he puts his clothes on and goes back to rummaging through is pack.

Pushing aside several carefully bound bundles of herbs, a honeypot, deep river water and a pack of pure salt, he pulls a small green book from it. He retrieves a quill and ink bottle as well and settles at the table by the window.

The sun wanders further to the West while Sir Leonhardt sits hunched over his book, writing slowly and with care. Each letter flows onto the parchment with measured strokes and thoughtful curves. Sometimes, the knight would leaf through the already script filled pages and reread passages before returning to his recent writing. He writes down the events of the day so far, how his travel had gone, how Bo had found a new friend in a donkey they had met. Sir Leonhardt wrote about the young girl that had offered him a bouquet of flowers with sparkling eyes. He had thanked her profoundly and with a charming smile. The bluebells were now pressed between the pages of his book, stowed away for someone special. If he would find the time to visit her that is.

Sir Leonhardt was careful and slow with his writing, choosing long words to train his vocabulary and to eloquently recount his stories with all the flourish he had perceived them in. Then he changes his writing into code and writes down how he had watched pixies taking down berries for a soon to come feast, the mood of the mooncalves and how he had bartered the honey from a green puck for a feather off his helmet.

And like that the sun sets.

He was about to rise and light a candle as someone knocked on his door.

“Come in.” Sir Leonhardt calls out with an even voice, finishing his sentence and closing the book.

“Sir, I am here to escort you to Sir Leviticus’ quarters.” Another page bows before him, arms pressed tightly to his sides.

“Ah yes, of course.” Sir Leonhardt stoppers the ink and goes to grab his satchel with necessities.

He fastens it to his belt and after a minute of consideration, also grabs a decorative dagger to go with his vest. He squeezes the book into the satchel and gestures for the boy to lead the way.

In the evening, the castle corridors are even more clammy, and torches line the walls. In their flickering light, Sir Leonhardt trails the thin framed page. He admires how the light gives the stones life, faces and grimaces appearing with wild eyes and teeth, tapestries sucking in the light like deep voids. Sir Leonhardt very much wishes he could be outside, see the stars and feel the soft ground beneath his feet.

“We are here, Sir.” The page says and Sir Leonhardt nearly jumps in shock.

Voices from behind the door reach his ear, muffled but no less raucous.

“Ah, thank you, boy.” He dismisses him, lifting his hand to pound on the heavy wooden door.

The voices grow a little quieter, then Sir Leviticus opens the door, his cheeks blushed from the heat inside.

“Sir Leonhardt! Well come in! The food has just arrived, and I had to wrangle those scoundrels to not eat it all in the blink of an eye.”

“You hear that! Who was it then, the one who stole a slab of meat right as he went to answer the door? Don’t be such a saint, Leviticus!” A broad man bellows from the back of the room.

Two other men are present and all of them are clad in a jerkin or vest, holding wine-filled goblets in their hands. The states of drunkenness vary from Sir Leviticus, mostly sober, to one man hunched in the corner ,very buzzed, who stares intently at the evening meal. The room has two tapestries decorating the stone walls, a vividly burning fire and an ensemble of cherry wood armchairs with dark green cushions gathered around an enourmous wooden table. The floor is covered in a thick rug and a polished set of armor stands in the back left corner.

“Evening to you all.” Sir Leonhardt waves and steps closer to the table.

“I recognize a few of those faces here. You there must be Sir Penshaw and this I presume is Sir Halagan?”

“The same.” A slender man with long dark hair smiles up at Sir Leonhardt, grey eyes sparkling.

Sir Penshaw himself laughs loudly and sets his goblet down.

“Right you are! Leviticus! Where’s the ale? Are we only drinking wine tonight?”

Sir Leviticus groans and steps outside the room to look for whatever servant is running late with such a vital item for the evening.

“So, let’s drop those formalities.” Sir Halagan snorts, sipping from his cup.

He turns around to Sir Leonhardt, holding out his hand.

“I’m Vax’ildan, no need to call us by our knightly names here. We are all friends in this room.” His smile is blinding and Sir Leonhardt takes the outstretched hand.

“Alright, friends. It’s a pleasure. My name is Maurice.”

“French? Oh hells, I’ve seen enough of those bastards in Camelot for a lifetime.” Sir Penshaw grumbles.

“Well, my mother was French. Though I have to say I regard myself more of an Englishman, uhm- “

“Grog. He is called Grog, you’ll understand why before the night is done.” Vax’ildan winks at Maurice and pushes a chair out towards him.

The last present person, the one sitting in the corner and staring at their food, slowly inclines his head and nods at Maurice. His hair is silvery white and despite his state his appearance is almost impeccable.

“Pleasure, my name is Sir Bertrand Bell.”

“Don’t mind his dreary face. Good old Bertrand has not been the same since he went on his little adventure to some place he calls the Pandemonium.”

“Horrible place, dust and sand and howling winds everywhere. Couldn’t hear myself even if I shouted and- “Bertrand mumbles, fingers shaking slightly.

“There was this giant… thing and by the Gods! And that wretched woman with her blasted feathery cloak-”

“Here, have another.” Grog amicably says to him and claps him on the shoulder. He pours the man another goblet of wine which Bertrand gulps down eagerly. Then Grog leans over to whisper loudly into Maurice’ ear.

“If you ask me he has probably been kidnapped by some elves or fey. Nowadays, there is some watery tart in every puddle, handing out magical swords and adventures, tempting fine men like Bertrand over there to take a swim with them.”

Vax’ildan chuckles.

“Like you wouldn’t wade into some lake just because of a wet damsel? And maybe there is a moistened bink throwing magical swords at fine knights? I dare say any man with his wits present would be happy to accept the gift-” He says, falling silent as the door creaks open again and a servant rolls a cask of ale inside, making the broad-shouldered goliath of a man cheer loud enough to shout over Vax’ildan.

Maurice takes a deep breath and relaxes as the topic is over. His eyes scan over Bell, trying to find any indication that his state was really to be blamed on fey.

Meanwhile, Grog rises from his seat and walks over, patting the man on the shoulder with vigor. The servant shrinks several inches under the force and quickly bows his way out of the chambers as Leviticus quickly ushers him along. Grog lifts the cask up on his shoulder and carries it over to the cluttered table.

“That’s more like it!” He bellows, setting one foot on a small foot hold. With a practiced move, Grog removes the plug and tilts the cask to fill his mug with dark amber ale.

“I don’t want to hear another word from you.” Leviticus grumbles and heavily sits down. Grog busies himself with pouring everyone a mug of ale. Then he sits down and takes a deep swing, sighing contently.

“Can we eat now?” Grog asks Leviticus with impatience.

“Oh, go on with it.” The older man groans.

“Here, you go first as our guest.” Vax’ildan gestures towards the platters of food and grins at Maurice.

There are different types of meats, a platter filled with fruit, a bowl of steaming potatoes and one with honeyed carrots next to a jug of gravy. Maurice nods, grabs a plate and loads it with two slices of dark meat, lots of carrots, then grabs himself a pear and potatoes. He sets his assortment down in front of him and generously pours gravy over it. Then he motions for his companions to continue and is not prepared for the mayhem that breaks loose as they all but lunge at what is left on the table. Grog shoves Bertrand off the meat, but the silver fox still manages to grab five slabs of mutton. Vax’ildan hoards potatoes and carrots, drowning them in gravy while Leviticus looks ready to pounce on him, defending his plate of six meat slices with quick hands against Grog. At one point, Maurice has to lift his plate off the table to let a couple of apples roll past.

As quickly as it had begun it comes to an end and all five men sit together in relative peace, eating. Grog sighs with contentment while munching on a piece of crust, crunches and slurps filling the air. Maurice and Vax’ildan both stab at carrots with their forks, gravy running down their hands. And Bertrand demolishes his plate of meats and looks for more, only to come up with the last three potatoes and no more gravy. He instead opts to drown them down with ale and burps.

“Oh, that was good, Leviticus.”

“Had one of my squires bribe the cook, so just you know, Lord Belvedere is eating soup for the second times this week.” The men hum and promise to not tell anybody.

Maurice leans back in his chair, glancing over at Vax’ildan. The man spares him a quick wink and Maurice smiles at him crookedly.

“Now pray tell, has anything out of the ordinary recently happened here? I have been away for some time.”

“It’s quite the usual, squires here and pages there, the good Lord lording over the country…” Vax’ildan gestures with his fork and interrupts Leviticus.

“Apart from that tenacious Beauregard Lionett you mean? Boy’s nothing but trouble, fist fighting his way through any argument and I’m not lying if I tell you that more than half of the other boys are afraid of him.”

“Aw, really?” Maurice looks curious at his companions, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, he’s a scrawny little devil, I tell you. Come ‘round court tomorrow and see for yourself.” Leviticus says, downing his mug.

Maurice taps his lower lips, thinking about it. In the corner of his eyes, he notices Vax’ildan looking him over. The man leans sidelong in his chair, chin propped up on his left hand. His jerkin stretches over his broad shoulders, revealing a well-muscled chest with almost no hair. Maurice jerks his eyes away again and looks at Leviticus.

“You know, I’ll take you up on that. Mind if I join in on the fun? I could use a little exercise.”

“Be my guest.” Leviticus chuckles, gesturing for Grog to refill his tankard.

Maurice nods in thanks, then he leans forward and folds his hands in his lap.

“But do tell me more about that Lionett boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I specifically cited parts the script from Monty Python and the Holy Grail. I own nothing of this work but I really wanted to cite some of my favorite phrases.
> 
> And well, that Lionett boy.....
> 
> Next chapter will be up on July 17th :)


	3. Sir Leonhardt finds a Squire and investigates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maurice and the Lionett boy have a wrestling match.  
> New insights are gained.

Maurice finds his way back to his chambers with the help of Vax’ildan, having to drowsily fend the other man off from his doorstep as he tries to come inside. _Only to see what new curtains the Master of Court had issued_ , of course. But Maurice knows himself, and he knows that tonight he has no energy left for any rolls in the hay.

Bone tired and certainly in over his head, Maurice discards his clothes, stocks the fire for the night and sinks into the soft bed. His little book he slips under his cushion, one hand clasping it tight.

The next morning greets him with light streaming in through the eastern window, cries bellowing from the square below and an insistent knock on his door.

Without much prompting, it swings open and another page marches in, setting down a tablet with breakfast, bows and vanishes again. Maurice swears under his breath, crawling out from underneath the warm blankets. On bare feet he pads over to the water basin, washes his face and gets dressed. Picking through his breakfast, he eats a slab of ham, an apple and dark bread, pocketing the remaining ham in waxed paper and quickly gulps down the honeyed herbal tea. Invigorated, he fastens his book to his belt and marches down the halls towards the hustle and bustle of morning practice of the squires.

The square is still wrapped in shadows, as the high walls to the east block out the morning sun, livestock being herded outside to feed on the grass and farm hands trotting along with hay forks or other gear high on their shoulders.

Leviticus stands on a little podium, overseeing the squires as they run through several gymnastic routines, loosening their muscles and building a sweat for their next activity.

“Wrestling, I assume.” Maurice says as he steps up behind Leviticus who turns around at the sound of his voice.

“Good morning, Maurice. That’s right. Care to join in?” The broad-shouldered man gestures out towards the boys, several of them looking up at his words.

Most of their faces are pensive, tired or a little afraid of a full-fledged knight joining them in their practice. There is one face though that stands out with a fierce look and burning eyes.

“I gather the one trying to roast me with his eyes is Beauregard?” Maurice whispers to Leviticus.

“Yeah, the Lionett boy.”

“Fitting. I’ll do it.” Maurice says easily, pulling off his tunic and boots to step down between the squires. He drops and starts doing push-ups, with ease finding his way into the routine and bending to match their rippling muscles. After another ten minutes, Leviticus whistles and takes a stance while the squires stand up and shake the dust off their clothes.

“Well then boys, now we get to wrestling. I want to see some improvements from last time, do not embarrass me in front of Sir Leonhardt here, who is kind enough to join us today. I’ll have fun watching him show y’all how it’s done. Do we have anybody volunteering to be his partner?”

Maurice lets his gaze slide over the squires around him, his hands resting at ease on his hips. He breathes deeply, feeling a bead of sweat run down the nape of his neck as he turns. Most boys avoid their eyes, but that doesn’t bother him. His gaze falls to Beauregard Lionett, who looks up briefly, then down again, balling his fists tightly to show white knuckles. Maurice blinks in surprise, he had expected more of a fight in the wiry frame. Just as the thought crosses his mind, Lionett looks up again and his grey eyes bore into Maurice’s brown ones, determination behind them.

“Lionett.” Leviticus calls out, making the boy and Maurice jump.

“It seems you want to try your luck. Go stand next to Sir Leonhardt.”

Lionett nods and steps forward, the other squires making space for him to move through. Many of them look unkindly at him, others grin at the prospect of a possible beating. All in all, Maurice is fairly sure each and every one of them had deserved what they got from Lionett.

The boy comes to a halt next to Maurice and bows fluidly, then looks sternly at the ground. Maurice takes his chance to take him in, the dark brown skin and darker hair, tied into a bun above an undercut. His jaw was narrow, his shoulders slim and arms though packed with muscle not as bulky as those of the other squires.

“Thanks for doing this. How good are you with wrestling?”

Lionett glances up at Maurice, eyebrows furrowed.

“Good enough, I guess. I win most times.”

The other squires are paired up as well and gather around a circle marked in the stamped earth.

“Think you’re going to win this time? Be honest.” Maurice encourages the squire, angling his hips a little as he shifts his weight.

Blue eyes follow his movements intently.

“Your stance is off. Maybe a tie.” Lionett smirks a little.

“Like your spirit, boy.” Maurice grins back, registering a quick twitch in the squires smile.

“Alright boys let’s not waste time. Tuxberry and Palquin, you start!”

Two boys step into the ring, similar in build and height, only difference being their hair colors. One of them is a redhead with a broad nose while the other has brown hair and a square chin. They look each other up and down with calculating looks and take stances, waiting for Leviticus to give the signal.

Their bodies smack against each other as their match begins, both grappling the other with force and trying to throw them with brute strength. Nails leave angry red marks as the scratch over bare chests and back, both pushing and pulling for the other to fall or get a foot between the other’s legs.

“Tss, no finesse.” Maurice comments under his breath, smiling as he sees from the corner of his eye that Lionett nods in agreement.

“That’s about all those two got. Dumb muscle.” The squire hisses, fingers twitching as Tuxberry and Palquin fall to the ground in a heap of twisting legs and arms.

After five more minutes, Tuxberry forfeits after Palquin has sat himself firmly on top of his back and holding his left arm straight at a painful angle. Palquin strides out of the ring, throwing Maurice a quick look. The knight schools his expression into neutrality, waiting for the next pair to be announced. It goes on for another three rounds, each pair gets immediate corrections and praise where it’s due, until Leviticus calls Maurice and Lionett over.

“Saved the best for last, lads.”

Maurice nods towards Lionett, who nods in return, shoulders drawn back, and feet planted well apart.

“Go!”

Contrary to the boys before them, who knew their contestants, Maurice and Lionett eye each other and start with circling around the perimeter of the oval. Maurice notices, how well Lionett places his feet and never openly exposes his front to him, rather keeping slightly turned with his hands loosely held by his sides. The boy kept his tunic on, which could prove fatal for him but also doesn’t give Maurice the advantage of reading his chest muscles for his next movements. Instead, he concentrates on Lionett’s whole body, how it shifts and tilts. Finished with his observation, Maurice makes two quick steps to close their distance, going for a quick half turn. His arms shoot out to wrap around Lionett’s middle, one foot kicking against his ankle to topple the boy into the dust. Instead, Lionett opts to jump in his grip, pushing Maurice’s balance backwards and twisting like a snake in Maurice’s arms. A shoulder shoves itself underneath his arm and then arms push and guide him to fall and roll over Lionett’s side.

They both fall as Maurice grips the tunic and pulling the boy over his hip, Lionett coming up on top for a second before he jumps away to avoid Maurice grappling him again. He is however not quick enough to get away from the knight’s long legs, getting kicked in the ankle and falls down. With big eyes Lionett sees Maurice get up and dash towards him, quickly rolling to the side and pushing himself up with a powerful shove of his arms. To Maurice’s surprise, Lionett takes a quick breath and then suddenly attacks. Before he crashes into him, he dips down to throw Maurice over his shoulder, arms circling his hips and fingers digging into his belt for purchase as he pushes Maurice up. Instead, the knight manages to hook his leg with Lionett’s and uses his far bigger upper body strength lift the boy up instead, holding him upside down for a short moment. Wrapping his legs around Maurice’s neck, Lionett twists with his whole body and they both fall to the ground.

They both push and struggle against each other, panting and straining to not let the other win. They roll and Maurice ends up on top. Wedging his shoulder through the opening between Lionett’s thighs, Maurice pries them open and then stems a knee into the lower back of the boy while he bends his legs further back. He feels the struggle underneath him, how Lionett tries to roll and throw him off, but Maurice just puts his knee down firmer and. Lionett loses his strength first, his back bending slightly. Then, in an incredible feat of flexibility, Lionett bends his knees and hooks his feet into Maurice’s armpits and pulls him forward, off his back. Surprised, Maurice goes rolling and lands with his back in the dirt, narrowly missing landing outside the ring.

“Wow.” He grins and gets back up, his field of view narrowing down to his opponent.

They gravitate towards each other, Lionett having a small light shining in his eyes and dust smeared all over his face and his tunic hanging loose. Finding each other again, they grapple and wind around each other, another test of strength and flexibility, in the end it happens so that Maurice’s stance shifts and he makes them both fall, Maurice landing on top of Lionett.

Like that, he grips the boy’s arms to bend them back and up, one knee again pressed into the small of his back, effectively pinning him to the ground. They both pant and sweat runs down their bodies in streams, Maurice feels his muscles vibrate with the strain.

“You forfeit?”

Lionett pushes against his hold, warranting Maurice to put his weight down a little more and put more strain onto his shoulder joints until the boy quietly gasps.

“You forfeit?” He asks again.

“Yes.” Lionett pants into the dust, sweaty palms gripping Maurice’s forearms hard and desperate.

Maurice disentangles himself and gets up. He holds out a hand to help Lionett up.

“I like your fire. Come meet me in my chambers when you’re done with your chores this evening.”

The boy’s eyes grow larger, they quickly roam over Maurice’s features before they drop to the ground again.

“Yes, Sir Leonhardt.”

Maurice walks over to his discarded tunic and boots, padding his face and sweaty torso off dust and dirt with a sleeve. Meanwhile, Lionett receives a rundown of his mistakes and praise for his reflexes and speed.

The boys disperse to freshen up before they are due to have their lessons of the day. Maurice steps close to Leviticus, slipping into the tunic.

“This was fun.” He says, pushing the fabric into his pants.

“You went easy on him.” Leviticus says with a small smile on his face.

“Did you see how he threw me off? That was impressive muscle work and flexibility. But nonetheless, didn’t come here to beat anybody up. This Lionett, he knows his moves, you taught him well.”

“Sometimes I wonder if that really was my education or whether it’s not more of the other boys picking on him that has made him this savvy and tenacious.” Maurice studies Leviticus’ face for a moment, then tousles his wavy black hair to shake the dust off.

“So, has any knight yet requested Lionett to be his squire?”

Later that day, Maurice is once again called upon by Lord Belvedere to get acquainted with his new protégé. This time Nott is there too, gently stroking the shivering mess’ hair as the former mage sits pressed against her side.

They stand in the yard of the castle amidst apple and pear trees, bearing fruit on their bending branches. Maurice quickly thinks about discarding his boots to wiggle his toes in the rich green grass, but then Lord Belvedere raises his voice.

“Well Sir Leonhardt, I trust you to become well acquainted with the mage, as I said we need to find a cure for his curse. A list of individuals for you to question will be provided as soon as you leave tomorrow, but I am also sure that looking at the victim himself, you might find some clues to the curse.”

“A list?”

Lord Belvedere points towards the Master of Court, who steps out from the shadow of a large pear tree.

“The mage has travelled the usual route we assumed, so we sent an envoy to the town of Bedwyn. And indeed, we gathered that this town was the last he came through and stayed at the Greenstone Inn. After that he probably stocked his provisions for the last leg of the journey. As he arrived at the castle, he made his visit to the Lord and then unfortunately locked himself up in his laboratory. And then we found him cursed.”

Lord Belvedere is about to walk away, when Maurice remembers he hasn’t asked one very important question.

“I beg your pardon, Sire, but I don’t think I have yet come to know the mage’s name?”

“We didn’t give it to you, due to the obvious reason that we would rather not have anybody know that it is this castle that is unprotected.” Lord Belvedere replies, his head tilted to the side.

“Then how am I supposed to ask around Bedwyn?”

“Please inquire about a man, about as tall as you, with red hair and a crooked nose. This should provide you with the answers we seek.”

Maurice suppresses a heavy sigh and nods.

“I’ll look into it.”

“Wonderful. The mage’s gelding is still in our stables, you may take him with you.”

Maurice nods to Lord Belvedere, who turns to stride back inside, followed by the Master of Court.

As soon as the lord is out of view, Maurice goes to pull his boots off and sighs as his feet hit the soft ground. A small dandelion pixie blinks up at him with her white crown bristling in the wind. He smiles, then turns around to his companions.

“Alright, let’s do this.” He walks over towards Nott, noticing how the cat jerks and scrambles back. Cooing and trying to look as unthreatening as possible, Maurice crouches down and holds his hand up to show they’re empty.

“Does he have a name already?” Maurice inquires, curiously eyeing the creature.

“No. And I also don’t know what he was called before.” Nott shrugs her slim shoulders.

“Then maybe we should name him? Makes it easier.” He hears a hum from Nott and thinks hard about it for a second.

“Let’s keep it simple, I say we name him Ginger.” He smiles at himself for the brilliant thought and ignores Nott’s suppressed chuckle.

“Now Ginger.” Maurice directs at the creature, extending his hand and making kissy noises.

“Come here, let me take a look at you.”

But Ginger’s face scrunches up in a very doubtful look, he rather opts to turn around and settle safely behind Nott. Maurice makes a few more kissy noises but Ginger only peers at him from behind Nott.

“Hmm, no fan of me yet. Nott, can you tell me if you see anything extraordinary on him?”

“You mean apart from- “

“Yeah, apart from his appearance.”

The small woman turns around slightly, Ginger perking up to look at her. He chirps, almost like a cat.

“He has colorful fur, there are some darker and some lighter stripes in it. Nothing much else.” Maurice taps his lower lips, forehead furrowed in thought.

“Any chance you could get a good look on his eyes for me?”

Nott crouches lower, coming to chest height with Ginger.

“Hey there good boy, what do you have right there? May I see?” She slowly reaches for his chin, lifting it slightly.

Ginger whimpers and scoots back, out of her reach. He balks and growls, giving Maurice a good view of his thin frame.

“Shh, shh everything is alright, I just want to take a look.” Nott continues, slowly walking after Ginger in a low crouch. Ginger hisses and jumps to his feet and darts off under the trees.

“Oh well, we’ll get there.” The knight sighs, patting Nott on her shoulder.

“At least he is somewhat chummy with you, this will make it easier to get him to Camelot.” He mumbles to himself, watching Ginger as he stands underneath a blooming apple tree and stares at the dancing bees in the blossoms.

Maurice hands Nott the ham left over from breakfast and opens a vial.

“Maybe he’s hungry, try again. And this time, try to pet him first, here.” And he tips the vial slightly and lets a drop of a viscous, clear fluid drip down onto Nott’s hand. Her eyes are big and the question apparent in their depth.

“It’s nothing dangerous, just to see what the curse is about, who might be involved. If there is anything to be gained, it will smoke.”

Nott nods with a concentrated expression, walking forward. Getting Ginger to chase after the ham is an easy task and as Nott hesitantly touches her hand to Ginger’s fur, Maurice waits for the smoke to rise under the curse’s effect. But nothing happens.

Confused, Maurice scratches his skin and watches Ginger munch on the ham.

“Very interesting.”

Later, a page shows him the way down to the mage’s laboratory. It’s a heavy wooden door, set into a crude stone wall. One flight of stairs down and then down a corridor until it bends to the left. Opening the door, Maurice is greeted with a large table, covered with books. The bed in the chamber is impeccable, the shelves empty like the mage didn’t have the chance to unpack his belongings. Slowly walking around the room, Maurice trains his eyes on the floor. Dust has settled on the floor and the footprints of a large cat lead from one end to the other, interspersed with those of boots. One spot it especially disturbed and Maurice touches his finger to a dark smudge there.

It’s coal and a strange smell that reminds him of burned incense, reaches his nose. The mage’s clothes are still in their bag, one cloak, a few shirts and trousers, his guild’s ceremonial shawl stuffed in between like an ordinary scarf. Maurice winces upon the state the silk is in. He advises the waiting page to pack up all his belongings.

“I need to take them with me.” Maurice says, gesturing around the room.

“Everything. Books, personal belongings, clothes. All of it. Let it be delivered to my room by this evening.”

Deciding that there is nothing else to be found after his fourth tour of the room, Maurice walks back upstairs to Leviticus’ room to complete the formalities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be up on July 24th :)
> 
> Kudos, comments and feedback are very welcome 🏵


	4. Sir Leonhardt has three Visitors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir Leonhardt's stay at Lord Belvedere's castle draws to an end, preparations are made.
> 
> TW: flirting, kissing and making-out in this one, hints to smut.  
> Starting at: "I understand you want a sample."  
> Ending at: "Safe travels, Maurice."
> 
> But everything stays non-explicit :)

A knock on his door makes Maurice sit up straighter in his chair, looking up from where he is writing in his book. The sun has just begun to set. Closing his book, he calls out to the visitor, then puts the feather away.

“Yes?”

The door slowly swings open and a thin shadow slips inside, bowing.

“Ah, Beauregard. Come here.”

Maurice reclines in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach to seem especially at ease. The boy quietly walks closer, stepping into the fading sunlight. The knights suppresses his reflex to suck in a breath as he sees the dark bruises on the boy’s face and the way he seems to stand uneasily on his left leg.

“What happened to you?” He asked, looking Lionett over.

“Fell.” Came the short answer, blue eyes starring stubbornly to the ground.

“Yeah, you fell. On a bunch of fists, it seems to me.” Maurice comments, standing up to walk over to the water basin.

He dunks a cloth into the cool water. Then he rummages through his pack to retrieve the arnica tincture he received from a travelling brownie who had been happy to have supper with him that night. He drizzles some of it onto the cloth and hands it to Lionett.

“Press it to your eye for now, go to the kitchens later and get yourself a slab of meat, wrap it in the cloth. I put a tincture on it to stop the bruise from spreading further.”

“Yes, Sir.” Lionett mutters, pressing the cloth to his face.

“Was this due to what happened this morning or did something else warrant the rough handling?”

The squire shifts on his feet, eyes quickly shooting up to look at Maurice before they settle on the wood of his table.

“They said you should have beaten me up, said you were a weak knight. I couldn’t let that stand.”

Maurice bites his lips and nods, sitting down again and sets his chin on his hand. A tight knot forms in his chest and Maurice smooths his hand over the skin of his collarbone to alleviate the pressure. The words want so badly to pour out of him, so he gives up and leans forward, looking at Lionett with a twinkle in his eyes and thankful smile in place.

“Thank you. You know, I’d really like to have a word with the ones who did that to you and let them have a first-hand experience of my weakness. But I’ll tell you something. If I did that to everyone slandering my reputation, I’d get nowhere. So, I'll forget about that and not let it bother me any further because tomorrow I’m out of here. And the same could be true for you.”

Lionett’s head jerks up, his eyes big, so big in his slender face.

“Sir?”

“I want to take you with me as my squire, Lionett. You’re a good athlete and wrestler. And if half of what Leviticus has told me about you yesterday it true, I'm led to believe that you’re stubborn as a mule and as quick with your fists as a natter. We’ll have to work on your sword fighting and archery though.”

“Sir?”

“I want you to be my squire, Lionett.” Maurice laughs, finding the dumbfounded look on Lionett's face far too amusing.

“What the actual- I mean- what?” The brown skin of Lionett’s face looks a little paler than before and Maurice is not sure what to make of it.

Most boys would have been delighted to become a squire. Deciding that a push in the right direction is needed, he gets up again and puts an encouraging hand on Lionett’s shoulder.

“Come on, boy. You want to be my squire? I’m not going to force you, but you’re better off away from those arseholes that are your fellow squires.”

The boy frowns at Maurice, nervously picking on his tunic’s sleeve. Maurice lifts his hand and then leans back again.

“I’m not doing this out of pity. I already liked your tenacity this morning, now you have defended my good name. I’m in need of a squire and I see in you the potential to become a great knight. Let me help you on that journey, Beauregard Lionett.” He holds out his right hand.

Slowly, Lionett takes down the cloth from his eye and stares at Maurice, blue eyes cold and alight. He extends his right hand and shakes Maurice’s, squeezing tight.

“Yes, Sir Leonhardt.”

“Well then! Glad I could convince you, call me Maurice when we’re alone, Lionett.”

“Then I’d prefer you calling me Beau. Beau to my friends.”

Maurice nods, standing up to rummage through his pack.

“Do you have a horse or a pony, Beau?”

“Neither. My parents shipped me off here in hopes that I’d become a suitable heir, at least until they get something better.”

With raised eyebrows, Maurice turns around.

“There seems to be quite the story behind that. Question is, will you be alright riding with me until we reach town to buy you a mount, or should we buy some old mare off the stables here?” He weighs his coin purse in one hand, a heavy clinking and jiggling sound resounding from it.

“I don’t mind riding with you, there are no horse in this stable that might be for sale.”

“Alright, the town it is then. Now run off and tell Leviticus or whoever is in charge that you will take your leave tomorrow morning, pack your things and come wake me before sunrise. Good night, Beau.”

Lionett bows again and runs off, more energy present in his limping step than before. Maurice sticks his purse back into his pack and sits down at the table. He resumes writing down what happened today, he had gotten through the wrestling and afternoon investigation with Ginger before Beau had shown up, now he starts adding the laboratory investigation and his conversation with Beau. His eyes start to hurt halfway through and Maurice lights a candle as the light continues to dwindle.

Sometime later a knock resounds from the door and as Maurice calls for the visitor to come in, it’s a page that informs him that the mage’s belongings are now packed. He instructs him to put them in his room. Two bags are deposited, one with clothes and other belongings, the other one filled with books. After looking their contents over, Maurice decides to take care of some things he can only do as long as he has a mirror at his disposal. He grabs his razor from his pack and positions himself in front of the polished silver plate next to the wash basin. With firm and measured strokes, he lathers his cheeks and neck before he starts to carefully shave his stubble away. 

With a cloth dabbed in honey, he smooths it over his irritated skin. While he waits for it to dry, Maurice goes back to his writing. He gets lost in the dance of words while he writes with measured strokes, then he thumbs back through his book to reread yesterday’s happenings. Another knock resounds from his door, Maurice wrinkles his brow and with a heavy sigh closes his book. He looks out of the window and sees that night has fallen completely, no moon to be seen in the sky. Slipping the book under his belt, he stands from the desk with his candle in hand and walks towards the door to open it.

“Yes?”

Vax’ildan’s face looks inside, then the man slips in. He is clad in a sheer black outfit and very shiny boots, his dark hair braided back over his temples. He also appears to be freshly shaven if the shine of his jaw is any indication to go by.

“Good evening, Maurice." Vax'ildan starts conversationally.

"Heard about your little tussle with the Lionett squire. And I heard that you hired the little one on the spot.” His eyes shimmer in the dim light of the small candle, his skin looking pale against his black clothes. They look at each other for a few seconds, then Vax'ildan nods his head towards the room.

“Mind if I sit down?”

Maurice guides Vax'ildan over to the chair by his desk and sets the candle down. If he is to have a guest, he should at least get a fire going before the nightly cold creeps in from the cracks in the stones. And it would provide more light.

He walks over to the fireplace and kneels down to push ashes aside, then starts building a small stack of wood and tinder from the basket set next to the fireplace. While he does that, Maurice looks over his shoulder to continue their talking.

“That’s true, I like Lionett’s nature, he's a good combatant and has already proven loyal. I’ve been looking for a squire for quite some time, you know.” Maurice says, raising up to fetch the candle from his desk.

“Ah, yes. I heard about that, but I thought you gave up three years ago, your requests suddenly stopped.” Vax’ildan says, his eyes following Maurice as he walks past.

The toe of his left foot briefly brushes over Maurice’s calf, then it’s gone again. The other knight doesn’t stop in his movement, but he throws Vax’ildan a curious look.

The grey-eyed man looks up at his companion, smiling mysteriously.

“Sometimes one has to wait for the right time. I decided it was futile back then and concentrated on myself to further my skills. Got me to be a rather decent sword fighter.” Maurice explains, combing one hand through his dark curls. He can feel Vax'ildan's eyes sweep over his upper body like physical hands.

“Hmm, I see. Your body says as much, the balance and grace.” Vax’ildan purrs. Quickly walking over to the fireplace, Maurice ignites the tinder and flames starts to devour the wood. As he turns around, Vax’ildan is pointing towards the curtains.

“I see the Court Master got blue ones, very nice.”

Maurice nods, putting the candle back on the table. A sound behind him catches his attention and Vax’ildan has settles himself on Maurice’s bed, hands sliding over the blankets as he leans back into the space.

“Cozy. You slept well?”

“Yes.” Maurice answers.

“And you leave tomorrow?”

“Indeed, I do.”

Their eyes meet again and Maurice sidesteps towards the wash basin, cupping water in his hands to rinse the honey off his face.

“Why can’t I shake the feeling that you are here to make my last night memorable?” Maurice asks, a crooked smile in place as he looks into the depth of the disturbed water. Then he chances a look behind him through the curtain of his curls.

“You’re a clever boy, Maurice. If you know that much, quit dallying and come over here.” The other man lifts himself up again to a sitting position, looking at him with hungry eyes.

Maurice runs his hand once more over his face, then he smooths his wet hands through his curls, pulling them back from his forehead. It feels weird to be able to do so unobstructed but he got used to the confusion by now.

Then he opens the front of his tunic, knowing that drops of water are running down his neck slowly to pool in the divot of his collarbone. He leans back against the wall, looking relaxed and at ease while the firelight plays over the curves of his chest muscles.

“Try to convince me it’s worth my time.” He says and is sure his eyes are just as heated as Vax’ildan’s at the moment.

“I understand, you want a sample.” Vax’ildan smirks, crossing his legs and letting his head fall back.

His hand comes up to lightly trace down the column of his pale neck, perfect for leaving marks. Slowly, very slowly he trails his fingertips down to his jerkin and starts popping the buttons open, revealing the very deep cutout of the black tunic underneath. His chest is smooth and well formed, the buttons pop without much restistance. The jerkin falls off his shoulders and he continues to slip out of his tunic, teasing in his motions as it slips off his shoulders. He runs his hand along the revealed skin of his stomach as he reclines once more on the bed. His fingers spread over his lower belly and the tips tease the hem of his leggins as Vax'ildan bites his lower lip.

Maurice’s eyes roam over the man, taking in the chiseled stomach and dark path of hair running over it. The movements of Vax’ildan make the firelight ripple over his form and Maurice feels himself entranced by the man. A gasp and hiss makes Maurice shiver as Vax’ildan rubs a thumb over his nipple, arching his back into the touch.

With his eyes transfixed, Maurice pushes himself off the wall and walks over to the bed, sinking down on his knees in front of it. Hungrily, he takes in the winning smirk and easy way long legs part for him. He starts to pull one of Vax’ildan’s boots off, earning himself an approving hum.

“Hello there.” Vax’ildan whispers, lifting his other foot for Maurice to get rid of the boot.

The leggins he is wearing are a tight fit on his legs, Maurice runs his hands over well-formed calves and muscular thighs, pressing forward in between Vax’ildan’s legs.

He grips the other man’s ass and pulls him closer, Vax’ildan making a surprised noise that devolves into a moan as Maurice mouths along his chest. He nips and licks over smooth skin, tasting sweat and sweet spices.

Two hands find their way into black curls, tugging lightly to tilt his head back. With a groan, Maurice surges forward and captures Vax’ildan’s lips in a deep kiss. Slowly he lifts himself up, pressing into the other knight’s body and laying him flat on his bed, keeping him down with his body's weight. Vax’ildan moans, legs spread wide to accommodate Maurice’s hips and his hands roam greedily as they slip under Maurice’s tunic to scrap over his back. As the other man is occupied, Maurice slips his small book underneath the mattress, then he delves back into Vax’ildan’s mouth. They part for a gasp of air and Vax’ildan whispers hoarsely into Maurice’s ear.

“That’s a good boy.”

\-------------------

With a sweet kiss to Maurice’s shoulder, Vax’ildan slips out of bed and starts to put his clothes back on. His neck now has three hickeys and one bite mark, the hand-shaped marks on his hips vanish under dark trousers.

“Safe travels, Maurice.” Vax’ildan whispers, tousling the other knight's hair before he slips out of the room. Maurice himself rolls onto his stomach, looking after him. As the door thuds closed, he hugs a pillow to his chest, checks his book, and closes his eyes to drift to sleep. Five hours later, a faint knock on his door wakes Maurice up again. Beau glances inside as he grumbles a sleepy “Come in”.

“Ah, Beau. You got everything?” The knight yawns and slips out of bed, stark naked.

The squire’s cheeks grow visibly red despite his darker complexion and he drops his eyes to the ground. The dark ring around his eye is as gruesome as the day before, but at least not any worse.

“Yeah, got it all.” He stabs a thumb back towards the hall.

“I will be right up. You can take that bag outside. Careful, there’s armor in there.” Maurice hops a little as he puts on his riding leggings and plucks on them to achieve a better fit.

Quickly, Beau grabs the indicated bag and hurries outside. Before he leaves his room, Maurice looks for any belongings he might have forgotten. Then he goes over his packs and fastens his book to his belt. With a hearty yawn he walks outside, takes his bag from Beau and each of them in addition take one of the mage’s bags. Together they walk down to the court in silence.

“I’m not made to be awake for this time of the day.” Maurice complains as he blinks multiple times to work the drowsiness from his eyes.

Beau throws him a quick glance but doesn’t comment on it.

In the courtyard, Maurice’s horse stands in front of the stables, brushed and eager. Maurice gestures towards it and smiles at his squire.

“Beau meet Bo.” Beauregard looks up at the stallion and it looks at him in turn.

Then it snorts into the fresh morning air to make the small hairs stading off Beau's forehead flutter and turns its head to nuzzle at Maurice’s pack.

“Ah, he likes you.” The knight smiles, patting Bo's neck.

Together they fasten Maurice’s and Beau’s belongings to Bo’s saddle, working quietly. When they’re done, they stand next to each other, looking at the sky.

“How much do you know about the weather, Beau?” Maurice asks, pointing upwards to feathered clouds.

“Not much. I know that the big bulky ones mean rain if they grow dark. As long as they’re white it’s fine weather.” Beau says, looking at the sky with his brow furrowed.

“True, true. You know, those tell me that we’re to expect cold winds from the North. You packed clothes for such weather?”

The boy walks over to Bo and lifts something out of his pack. It is a dark brown cloak, thick and woolen but without fur or rain proofing. Maurice takes it in hand and inspects the threads.

“We’ll get you a better one in town.” He says and Beau’s face grows dark for a second. Before Maurice can inquire about it, two figures appear from the servant’s entrance and hurry over the court.

Nott and Ginger make their way over, Nott having slung a small travel bag over her shoulder, next to a large, waxed pack. Maurice tsks and quickly walks over, taking it from her.

“Ah, thanks.” She huffs, setting the other one down.

“Is this-?”

“It’s provisions, Sir-“ Nott’s eyes slide over Beau and she continues with a lower voice.

“I’m sorry, but his laboratory has been cleaned out, I wasn’t able to retrieve his belongings. How do we find a way to break the curse now? We need his materials!”

Maurice nods, looking over his shoulder. He scrutinizes the packs already loaded on Bo, then looks back down again.

“It’s already loaded onto Bo, don’t worry. Will you be joining us on our travels, Nott?”

The small woman nods, then looks down at her hands, wringing them together. Ginger sniffs at them and then rubs his face against them, which makes Nott smile a little.

“I will. But I don’t have any means of travel. When I came here, I had a small donkey, but it died last year. I do have gold though, if you would be inclined to make a quick stop in town?” She asks with more confidence in her voice.

“Well that was our plan either way, my squire needs a mount as well." Maurice points back at Beau.

"But I don’t think you’ll need to buy a horse, Lord Belvedere has told me that the mage’s gelding is still in these stables.”

A worker peeks outside, having heard Maurice talking.

“Aye, Sire. Ya mean tha’ pale yellow one? Big fella but also very calm.”

“If that is the mage’s one, yes. I have not seen it before.” Maurice shrugs his shoulders.

“Please bring make him ready for travel.”

“Aye.” The man says and vanishes into the depth of the stables.

Maurice walks over and throws the packs over Bo’s saddle. The horse whinnies with discontent and Maurice soothingly pats his flank.

“Only for a short while, big one.” Then he turns back to his companions, just as the sound of hooves echoes from the small building next to them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I liked to write Vax and Molly together, they have a nice chemistry :)
> 
> Next chapter will be up on July 31th.


	5. The Journey begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our travel group finally leaves the castle and Beau has some thoughts.

Nott carries their provisions packs over to the gelding and Maurice relocates the mage’s belongings. From underneath the heavy pack, she reveals a small bag slung around her narrow shoulders. It looks meager in comparison to Maurice’s huge travel sacks.

“That all you’re taking with you?” Maurice asks, glancing quickly over to Beau, who looks at the sky in concentration. Nott nods.

“Don’t need much, Sir.”

Next to her, Ginger leans his head against her hip, looking up at Maurice with scrutinizing blue eyes. His fur is no longer darkened by dust and dried mud but more shiny, clean. The underlying pattern comes out wonderfully and shows a rich bouquet of coppers, reds and fiery browns.

“I see you washed him.” Maurice remarks and Nott looks over at the mage with a wry smile.

“Yes, he gave a hell of a fight. Like any cat in water.” She shows him the scratch marks on her arms.

Maurice hums, absentmindedly brushing his hand through the gelding’s white mane. He is a calm one, his fur a soft buttery blonde and eyes a deep brown.

“What are we waiting for?” Beau asks as he walks closer.

“For a piece of paper. Lord Belvedere said he has a list for me.”

“Ah-“ Beau says and starts rummaging through his pockets.

“That one?”

He holds up a folded piece of paper with Lord Belvedere’s seal holding it closed. Maurice smirks and takes it from him.

“Most likely. How did you come to possess it?”

“I met the page this morning, told him I’m your squire and that he could entrust it to me.”

“Already committed to the job, good boy.” Maurice chuckles as he pats Beau on the shoulder, pocketing the list for later.

“You need help with getting up?” He then turns to ask Nott, who looks a bit nervous at the prospect of riding a horse instead of a donkey.

“Uhm- please?”

Holding out his hands, he lets Nott use them to propel herself upwards, coming to lay across the saddle instead of sitting in it. Maurice suppresses a laugh, extending his hand to help her right herself. Huffing and throwing the hair out of her face, Nott just thanks him wordlessly and then reaches for the reigns he holds out to her.

Ginger stalls a little at first, looking back at the castle. Then he looks at Nott and then at Maurice, who once more makes kissy noises to lure the mage along. He sits and just watches. Maurice contemplates just picking him up. The gelding snorts and makes three steps, over towards Bo. Slowly, Ginger lifts himself on his feet and walks after Nott and the horse, then quickly closes the gap and jumps up on the gelding, who doesn’t really acknowledge the new pressure on his back.

“Hey there, Ginger.” Maurice smiles at the cat, thoughts turning in his head.

Why was the horse not spooked with the sudden appearance of Ginger? Deciding to think about it later, he instead takes a long piece of leather string from his pack and fashions it into a leash. Ginger can’t even react quick enough before the makeshift collar is around his neck and the other end of the leash is in Nott’s hands.

Big eyes, heavy with disappointment and hurt stare at Maurice.

Beau and he get up onto Bo, and then they slowly make their way out of the castle. The click clack of their horses’ hooves cut through the morning air, people hurrying along and sidestepping as they hear them approach. The group lapses into silence, travelling down the paved road from the castle to the town below. Close to the castle lay the houses of merchants and other wealthy folk like artisans and manufacturers, carpenters and the likes. Further out are the farmer’s, laundry women and dippers. They share the road with the early birds, bakers shuffling around their ovens and women scurrying between houses with laundry, opening the leather blinds to air out the rooms. Two of them look at them curiously and Nott cowers a little lower while Maurice keeps an eye out for Ginger, who is settled behind Nott like an orange furred loaf.

Nott is quiet, but he notices that her eyes are quick and sharp. Maurice likes her and the way her mouth curls like she knows the secrets of many women and men crossing their way through town, how they scan over their heads with calculation.

Ginger is also craning his neck, his tail shaking in interest.

“He seems to like getting out of the castle.” Maurice says and Beau looks back at Ginger.

“It appears to be the case, Sir Leonhardt.” Nott murmurs, smoothing her thumb over the rough leather between her fingers.

As they bump over a hole in the pavement, Beau’s hands curl tighter in Maurice’s tunic.

“They locked him away as soon as… things happened at the castle.” Nott continues.

“It was probably for the best. He could have gotten himself hurt or run away.” Maurice comments and then spots something along the street.

“Who’s hungry?” He asks his travel companions, not waiting for the confirming murmurs before he slips off the horse and presses Bo’s reigns into Beau’s hands, then strides over to the bakery.

\------------

Beau watches as Maurice, her knight, greets the sleepy looking baker. She adjusts her position on the saddle, moving forward a little to settle better into the soft leather. She’s not buying into half of his chivalrous knight act but what are her choices? She wanted to get out of this castle, wanted to go and have adventures and become a knight with a cool sword and a girl by her side. Her face blushes a little.

Definitely with a sweet girlfriend, probably no princess but who wants those anyway. A nice girl, pretty and at best as adventurous as herself so they can ride through the countryside and fight monsters. Awesomely, of course.

Nervously, Beau tightens her hands on Bo’s reigns and pulling her arms closer to her chest, pressing flatter whatever there might be to be seen. She doesn’t have much and binds it flat but it’s best to be careful. Her eyes skim over her surroundings and then stay glued to her other companions. They must be connected to whatever Maurice’s quest must be, Beau reckons, eyeing the very big ginger cat and the small, hooded woman. Both are strange and at least she is shifty as hell while the thing looks almost feral. Right now, he is rubbing his cheek against the gelding’s backside to scent it.

Whatever, Beau decides, shifting with Bo as the stallion makes a gentle sidestep. She has other things to look out for at the moment, for example make sure nobody realizes she is a girl, especially not her knight. She wants to groan about the pile of steaming horse shit her life has been and probably will be until she is finally 18 and knighted. Beau steers her thoughts back to her potential lady friend and calms her nerves with daydreams of rosy cheeks. Dark hair, that’s beautiful, bright eyes. Yes, very nice, strong too, oh hell yeah. She nods to herself, jumping in surprise as a steaming warm something is shoved into her hand.

“Breakfast!” Maurice croons as Beau fumbles to catch the pastry before it falls to the ground.

It’s fresh out of the oven, smelling of sugar and cherries, with a thick crust and heavy. It’s as big as her hand and steaming in the morning air. Maurice walks away and hands the same to Nott, then rounds the horse while pulling a baked sausage from some kind of dough roll, patiently holding it out to Ginger as the cat bends away from him.

“Come Ginger, come. It’s food, you need to eat.”

Beau has the quiet suspicion that Maurice likes to pester the animal he keeps calling Ginger. She bites into her pastry and a thick filling of cherries and cherry juice with sugar and cinnamon floods her mouth. Her eyes close and her shoulders relax.

Beau wills herself to go slow and savor it, but it only holds for three more bites, then she shoves the whole thing into her mouth.

“Gis is fuggin goog.” She mumbles, Maurice head appears from behind Nott’s shoulder.

“Glad you like it. Next time it’s your treat, dear squire.”

Beau turns around with a perplexed expression.

“Wha- next time?”

“Yeah, you know-“ Maurice gestures wildly into the air, holding the sausage under Ginger’s nose.

The cat sniffs and looks interested but also eyes it very distrustingly.

“I’ll give you pocket money, of course. And we take turns getting food. I like engaging other people in daily activities. Like one day you get firewood, the next I do, then it’s Nott’s turn.”

“Sounds fair.” Nott pipes up, licking her fingers clean of any remnants of cherry juice.

Meanwhile, Ginger has turned his face away, eyeing something else. The baker has started taking bread out of his oven, piling the golden loafs on a board on his windowsill for cooling. As Maurice sighs and packs the rejected sausage into his bag, Ginger leaps off the gelding, ripping the leash from Nott’s hold. Ginger quickly crosses over to the bakery and snatches one loaf of bread off the windowsill.

Before Beau can so much as call out, Maurice is next to Ginger, holding him down and out of sight from the baker. The cat hisses and grouses, teeth digging into the bread.

Maurice quickly pulls a silver coin from his pocket and puts in place of the bread. The knight drags the wiggling and hissing cat back to the horse and hauls him back onto the saddle next to Nott. He growls a little louder but Maurice ignores him and this time, he fastens the leash with a double knot to the gelding’s saddle.

“No, no, Ginger no-“ Nott starts to lecture him.

“You have a knife?” Maurice asks her with a stern look.

“Oh- uhm, yes.”

“Cut the leash if he jumps off again. I’ll make a longer one at our next stop.”

Maurice pulls himself back onto Bo and they briskly ride down the street, Maurice heralding their small group again.

Beau observes as Nott manages to subdue Ginger and as he is calm again, Ginger bites into the bread, tearing a big chunk out of it. Then he slowly pushes his muddy paw inside and looks up at them. A serene look is spread across his cat face and Beau swears that this was one of the weirder things she has ever seen.

“What the actual…” She starts, but reigns herself in.

No swearing while Maurice is there. Bad manners.

Maurice himself stares at the cat and has set one hand on his hips with a contemplating look.

They make their way further down the road, circling around the town square in a wide arch. Maurice seems to know exactly where he wants to take them to purchase certain things, they visit a tailor along the way and Beau’s eyes widen at the coat Maurice shows to her.

“You like it?” He inquires, spreading the fabric in front of her eyes.

It’s dark blue, fading upwards to the top into turquoise. Inside, it’s lined with soft rabbit fur against the cold and the fabric has a sheen to it, indicating it is waxed to hold up against rainy weather.

“It’s nice.” She grumbles, purposefully lowering her voice.

She reaches for her meager purse and looks inside. Her bastard of a father never cared much. He sent a little money her way just not to raise suspicions about his only ‘son’, but it was never enough for her to really get the things she needed when they were needed, she always had so save up and wait. If it hadn’t been for Leviticus, who chipped in a couple of times, she’s not even sure she would have half the writing supplies or clothes that she has now.

A calloused hand lands on top of hers, Beau lifts her head to look at Maurice.

“All in due time, squire. For now, let me handle the money stuff.” He says and waves at the seamstress to wrap up the cloak.

Then he purchases another length of leather and adds it to the leash.

Beau is uneasy as they travel further, now on purpose counting out the money she has. In theory it should be enough to buy half a horse, which qualifies as a donkey. She can do with a donkey, they are stubborn and loud, like herself.

Her eyes stray back to Ginger and Nott. The cat is reluctantly letting Nott tear small pieces off his bread to eat, both paws are still inside. Looking back towards the street ahead of them, she muses about what kind of horse she’ll get herself once she has the necessary gold for it while fiddling with a coin in her hand.

The ground underneath them becomes muddier, they have long left the nice cobble stone streets behind and are now on the verge from solid soil to wet earth, dug open by hooves and cartwheels. Livestock all around them with its typical sounds and smells, cows and goats, a few sheep and then they come across horse stables.

Passing through a high arch they step into a small square, covered in straw. Around them are many doors and windows, horses looking at them with their big eyes. Bo snorts and nickers.

“Hello?” Maurice calls across the court.

Only a few horses answer with their own snorts and a skinny dog comes around a corner, wagging his tail in excitement. Behind them, Ginger hisses and balks on top of the gelding.

Beau watches as Maurice pats the dogs head, and if an animal could have a stupid happy smile spreading across its face, she is sure it would look like the expression the dog is making. It leans heavily against Maurice’s thigh and growls appreciatively as the knight scratches it underneath its jaw.

“Where’s your owner, hmm?” Maurice asks the dog, ignoring the slobber inching closer to his hand.

“That would be me.” A women’s voice sounds from the third door on the right and a brown, curly mess of hair appears.

“Hello Miss. We have come to purchase a mount for my squire here.” The knight smiles and walks over, the dog following him.

The door swings open and a small women walks outside, rubbing her hands over her dark brown apron.

“Well, how ‘bout that. Of course, business is nice. Have a look around or would you like a recommendation?”

Maurice turns once where he stands, hands on his hips.

“Are those all your animals?” He asks.

“Some of ‘em are out the back, but those are a lil’ older.” She stabs a thumb behind her.

“Who do I ‘ave the pleasure of dealin’ with?”

“I’m sorry, my manners. I’m Sir Leonhardt, this is my squire Beauregard Lionett, and this is my travel companion and her pet. What is your name?”

Her eyes muster each one of them, then she smirks up at Maurice.

“I’m Corrin. So?”

“We’ll look around first, I think.” As she hears that, Beau slides out of the saddle and lands with a soft thud on the straw covered ground.

Nott does the same. The leash still bound to the saddle hangs limp and with an attempt to rip another piece off the bread, it falls to the ground and the dog’s ears perking up with interest.

Corrin nods and just gestures over towards the stables. Then she walks towards Bo.

“No problem, take your time while I look at this big boy.” She is hardly big enough to reach Bo’s shoulder, standing a little taller than Nott.

But her body language speaks of confidence.

Beau observes Corrin as she takes Bo and the gelding in, patting them down with interest. Nott keeps close, keeping an eye on where Corrin’s fingers stray. Ginger meanwhile is nervously trying to hover decide if he should jump down after his bread, but the dog is also inching closer. Giving up on it, he curls up while keeping a close eye on the mutt.

Maurice’s voice snaps Beau’s attention back to him.

“Beau! Come take a look around!”

She nods and jogs over to the stables, peering inside. Behind the first door, her eyes are met with a dark furred beauty, looking far too expensive for her coin purse. With a quick raise of her eyebrows, Beau walks down the stable doors, closely flanked by Maurice. She tries not to look to mournful at all the shimmery furred stallions and mares, some cute little foals looking up at her with wet eyes and perky ears. There are no donkeys. Despite herself, Beau can’t stop herself from standing and staring at a cute little foal with a reddish fur and white nose. Maurice spares a quick glance, then walks further down the rows. Five doors ahead, he stops dead in his tracks and peers inside.

Maurice, who swirls around and cries towards Beau across the court.

“Beau! I found your horse!”

Oh gods, please let it be a moderately good one despite being old and shaggy, Beau thinks. She makes her way over, dark thoughts swirling through her brain.

One look inside the stable and she is close to tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be up on August 7th :)
> 
> Until then!


	6. The Struggles of a Squire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Beau POV this chapter and a little bit of Nott.
> 
> Horses, roads and blue sky ahead.

The horse Beau is looking at is so beautiful that she wants to rip the door open and ride into the sunrise with it. Damn all consequences. The fur is a rich auburn, the nose and head are of a dark brown as are the fetlocks, the mane and tail are as black like midnight ink on a moonless night. A quiet sigh manages to get past Beau’s lips before she schools her face back into a calculating look.

“What do you think? Very good form, standing well-balanced and a good portion of muscles.” Maurice is already waving Corrin over.

“Looks alright. Maybe a bit expensive.” Beau responds, holding her coin purse in the air.

It looks limp and sad. Maurice’s eyes bore into her blue ones, he walks towards her and throws an arm around her shoulder.

“Come with me for a second. Sorry, Corrin - just a moment. Nott! Don’t let Ginger out of your sight.”

“What the-“ Beau protests weakly, but Maurice is the knight and she’s the squire, she doesn’t want to make bad impression on the first day.

Still she squirms a little, his arm heavy and intrusive around her shoulder. What if he notices they’re not broad enough? Too soft?

After he has dragged her far enough to be out of earshot, she stems her heels into the ground and rounds on him.

“By Merlin’s balls! I can pay for a horse myself.”

“More like you can pay for a donkey.” Maurice snarks, giving Beau’s purse a quick flick with his finger.

Embarrassment is bubbling inside Beau and she pulls her purse out of his reach.

“Yeah, so what? I’m going to buy my own ride, no need for you to chip in so much, but thanks anyway.” She tries a meager bow.

“Really, I can’t accept it.”

A deep sigh sounds from above her, then she is pulled up again by gentle hands on her shoulders. Maurice’s face displays no look of pity or frustration, he just looks at her like he sees something more than a scrawny, stubborn squire with a tendency to use the wrong words at the wrong time and fight with fists rather than talk things out. Those bastards never listened anyway, Beau thinks and looks at him with a defying glare. He was too nice to her and if she had learned anything from her father, then that whenever he was nice to her, there was going to be a catch. But she was done with that. Maurice looks in her eyes, his dark brown ones scanning over her face while she sees the sentences assemble in his mind.

“Beauregard Lionett, please let me buy you this beautiful horse. She is lost in this stable, have you seen the other animals here? If you can’t accept this is a present, from me to you, for becoming my squire, then at least let me buy her for her own good and put you on her back to speed up our travels.”

“Was hardly a big feat to become your squire, just had to say yes.” Beau points out. Maurice blinks.

“I didn’t want to say this so soon, but I know about-“ He starts to explain.

About what? Beau’s blood runs cold and she feels her muscles tighten, ready to bolt.

“I know about your situation with your family, your father in particular. Sir Leviticus told me.”

“Is this pity then?” She spits out, recoiling even further.

Her father might be an asshole, but she made it this far. She doesn’t need some shining knight’s sympathy.

“Absolutely not.” Maurice lifts his hands to calm her down.

With his palms up, she can see the callouses he has acquired through sword fighting, multiple cuts running across his knuckles and palms.

“You have been abandoned by your blood. I have been too. And therefore, I think the two of us are very alike and you know what they say-“ He raises his eyebrows at her with a truly idiotic smile, in her opinion.

“Birds of a feather flock together. Look out for each other. You think I would have taken any of the other boys as my squire? They’re not like me in the least and I would not have liked to take one of those pampered boys. I wanted a fighter.”

He stabs his index finger at her collarbone.

“You’re a fighter. And you need a horse worthy of you. So what, you don’t have the money just yet? I do, and I’ll happily use it for a good cause. Hell, pay me back sometime later if you need to.” Maurice huffs as he ends his speech.

Beau swallows heavily, still trying to deny the things Maurice just said. But like hell, she could not deny being a fighter. She was proud of being a fighter. Going toe to toe against all those deceiving bastards and coming out on top. Her eyes fall to the ground, her dirty and battered shoes next to Maurice’s leather boots, well-kept and sturdy. High quality. Something to walk in and never get blisters or trip down the stairs as you slip inside. The leather was probably as smooth as the skin of her forearm.

And he had also been abandoned by his family? Fought his way through?

Slowly, she nods, not looking at the broad smile that splits Maurice’s face. She can feel the warmth of it touch her face.

“Good, good. Thank you, Beau.” He claps her on the shoulder and turns around to walk back to Corrin.

Perplexed, Beau looks after him.

Money changes from one hand to another and Beau walks up to this beauty of a horse. Maurice holds the reigns out to her with a bright smile, watching as she steps up to the animal and cautiously extends her hand to pet the velvety snout.

“Got a name for her?” Maurice asks next to Beau, letting the horse gently nuzzle his temple.

“She’s a real beauty and seems really sweet.”

“Dunno, I’m bad with names. Bella or Tracy?” Beau suggests, but Maurice just raises his eyebrows.

“Those sound like mean girls. She’s not mean.”

The horse snorts in agreement.

“We had a maid at home, she was nice.” Beau mumbles, stroking along the animal’s neck.

Gods, it feels like satin, warm and soft.

“Maybe that one then, now hop on and let’s get going.”

He walks off to check in on Nott and Ginger who are back on the gelding again, playfully flicking Ginger’s nose as he curiously leans down to inspect Maurice. Then the knight knots the leash back in place. Beau draws a deep breath and loads her belongings and travel gear onto her horse, mulling over a name while she fastens the bindings and straps one last time before she walks around the horse to put a foot into a stirrup.

“Alright, Molli. Let’s be good friends, okay?” And she swings herself into the saddle.

Molli sidesteps slightly and then they are off with Bo and Maurice in the front, Nott and Ginger in the middle and Beau wrapping up the back. Molli is gentle and calm, taking to following the other horses with ease. Beau feels her heart swell in her chest, already planning on training the horse to make certain maneuvers and thinking about starting a small stock of carrot treats. Shaking her head about her sudden bout of heartfelt happiness, Beau shakes her head and pulls up next to Nott as the road gets broader. They leave town and Beau takes a deep breath as the open sky above blinds her with its rich blue and the rippling fields of grass around her sway, giving sound to the wind sweeping through the emerald blades.

At a gentle pace they ride down the country road, along small crude stone walls and sheep grazing in peace with shepherds standing watch as their dogs circle the herds. The atmosphere is tranquil, the wind sweeping down from the North being a little cold and brisk but perfect for the late summer weather.

“So uhm- you got stuff to do? With Sir Leonhardt?” Beau asks Nott, acting gruff and cool.

Nott looks over, smiling crookedly. Her teeth are a little all over the place, Beau notices.

“I’m tagging along for emotional support.”

“For him?” Beau nods over at Maurice, who has turned his face towards the rising sun and lets Bo do the stirring.

“No.” Nott chuckles, reaching out with her hand and petting the cat on its head.

It makes a surprised sound, then presses up into her palm.

“This one.” Nott says.

“And you’re a knight’s squire now?”

“I am.” Beau responds, a little pride swinging in her voice.

“I hope he is good to you. You know, I saw you in the castle, heard some of the other boys say mean stuff about you. But I think you’re a good egg and I’m glad you punched them in the face.”

Beau snorts as Nott mimics socking someone.

“Whatever, I’m out of there now. And Sir Leonhardt is a good guy, he beat me fair and square in wrestling and now look at her. He got me a horse.”

“I saw that, you threw him good.” Nott grins, eyes gleaming

“He did.” Maurice calls from the front, turning halfway around in his saddle.

“But in the end, I was better.” A shit-eating grin spreads over his face.

Beau itches to counter his statement, telling him how he was just bigger and stronger but with technique, she would have won. But she’s making an effort, she doesn’t know these people. They don’t know her. She doesn’t know what they expect of her. To Maurice, she might be a squire that has a background like him. But ultimately, the affection could wear off and then she would only be someone to clean his armor, look after his horse and make sure he his stuff is kept in order. Might be that he didn’t care for her opinion or to engage with her on a personal level after the first curiosity has worn thin. She had seen many knights riding by on their literal and figuratively high horses, not sparing a second glance for those below them. And if she was to go by any of the behavior the other squires had shown her, she was right to be cautious as those people later turned into knights.

Still, a small spark of hope remained that Maurice would be different.

Making everything even more difficult, there was her little secret. Nobody was to know that until she was knighted and done with everything, ready to do her own thing. And if those people got too close to her, they might find out.

So, she schools her face to not show her thoughts and instead leans forward to pet Molli.

“Got a name for her yet?” Nott disturbs her from her brooding.

“I was thinking that Molli is a nice name.” Beau announces, scratching over the short hair on the side of her head as a little insecurity zings through her.

“I like it. I guess I’ll just call this one Buttercup, he’s sweet.”

Nott laughs heartily, throwing Ginger a little off course. He makes a small sound and rubs his face into her hand.

Ginger fidgets and Nott feels his nervous energy seep into herself. Beauregard is riding alongside them but not saying anything anymore. And while Maurice seems very approachable, she doesn’t know how to strike up a conversation with him. Altogether, she is very happy to get out of the castle, she did not really fit into the chit chat of the other maids, hadn’t been that good with cooking or dusting or collecting rumors. Sometimes it really got to her, how could someone not be good at dusting shelves and furniture? Nott sighed a little, pressing her thighs gently into the gelding’s sides. He is a calm one, stepping carefully and gently. His ears end in slightly white tips and his mane is as white as milk.

Nott is still nervous about just jumping on a horse and riding down the road with two strangers and a cursed mage, but Ginger or whatever he was called before, he gives her a feeling of safety and she is not sure where this is coming from, but she feels like he depends on her. Trusts her.

His head rests easy on his paws, eyes scanning the passing scenery. Little noises and chirps leave him as the landscape around them gives him new things to look at.

With a smile she takes a deep breath and folds her hood back with a bold shake of her head. Ginger purrs inquisitively, ears perking up.

“Yeah, no more hiding.” She says, patting his head.

“We got the whole world to discover and to find out what’s up with you.”

Turning her head, she looks down on Ginger, his blue eyes portraying a bright mind with deep understanding for a short moment. Then it’s gone again, and he looks at her with the eyes of a cat. His red fur bristles in the breeze and his ears twitch in every direction. The leash around his neck hangs limp, she gathers it up in her hands to put less of its weight on his neck.

Nott had not seen any other mages before this one in her lifetime, but the small glimpses that she had caught of Ginger before, had made her realize that he must be a respected mage, the clothes he had worn a testament to that. Tailored to his body, inherently his and made of good fabrics. And going by the size of the two bags strapped to the gelding he had brought most of his possessions with him. Nott knows she didn’t pack much for herself, she never needed many things. Two more changes of clothes, one cloak, a small knife, flintstone and rope, a blanket and a scarf against the cold weather. Soap and salt, the important necessities.

She’s feeling confident, she’s feeling like her life took a step forward and she is riding into adventure together with a curly-haired knight, his grumpy squire and a cursed mage. It promises mystery, sleeping under the stars, sitting around a fire and listening to stories about dragons and fairies. Maybe they would meet other knights, get to rescue a princess or fight a hill giant. Well, Nott would be okay with less fighting and more mystery solving, honestly. But this was the first day of her journey and this was not going to be anything like her drab life from before and she was ready for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be up on August 14th :3


	7. Sir Leonhardt and Stories by the Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters today!

The road winds through the hills surrounding Lord Belvedere’s castle, other knights cross their paths and greet Maurice as they recognize his colours. Maroon, gold and purple dominate his clothes, reflect in Bo’s bridle and in the emblem on his pack. It takes them the better part of the day to step over the border of the county. They come to a river with foaming white water, making Maurice shiver. The turbulences promise to rip anybody falling into them under water and to make the span of their remaining life very short. Keeping an eye on his travel companions, Maurice gestures for them to follow behind him, as he goes first.

Beau lightly taps his horse and the beautiful animal gracefully walks over the moldy wood, the hollow clanking of iron on wood resounding over the river’s loud hiss.

Nott and Ginger follow him, the small maid looking stoically ahead of her and never risks looking left or right into the water. Ginger is leaning forward, staring into the whirling pools and bubbles, his eyes big in wonder.

Across from them, on the other end of the bridge, a knight is waiting for them to cross over.

“The Quickwaters are nasty this time of the year.” He comments as Maurice reaches him.

“Very nasty. Safe journey.”

“Safe journey.”

The other knight waits until Nott and Ginger are back on solid ground before he slowly makes his way over the bridge, his horse’s ears flicking back and forth.

Further down the road, they descend down into a plane, dotted with cottages and small fences. It’s a typical village just outside the reach of Belvedere’s reign. They pass sheep on their way into the village, children and chicken inside and curious dogs trailing behind them as they ride out again. The people looking at them are brown from the sun, weathered and with a bright smile, indicating that their life may not be free of labor but at least the knights patrolling the vicinity keep any unwanted attention off them. Maurice goes over their provisions in his head and calculates the next leg of their journey.

The later afternoon grows warmer and both Beau and Nott throw off their cloaks while Maurice keeps a wary eye on the feathered clouds up North. Ginger meanwhile has jumped off the gelding and saunters alongside them, sometimes ducking into a nearby brush but the leash keeps him from running away from them.

The knight is surprised about the calm demeanor the cat shows, not trying to flee or act like a scared animal. More than once intelligent eyes meet his and they both stare at each other. There must still be something of the mage left inside the creature, Maurice deduces and rubs the leather reigns between his fingers.

The slow pace leads them closer to the edge of a forest, one of many in this region.

Maurice dismounts and turns away from the others, drawing a face as he rubs his behind. The first four days are always the hardest when it comes to riding. Schooling his face back into cheerfulness, he walks over to Beau.

“Beau you look for firewood.” He says and hands an axe to the squire.

“Only dry wood, we don’t need to smoke ourselves. Nott, would you please be so kind as to lay out our blankets and bedrolls? I’ll look for water to fill our waterskins and cooking.”

With that he grabs the folded leather cauldron and stalks off into the late afternoon forest, listening for the sounds of water. The Quickwaters they had passed earlier bend towards the south, so they are far out of reach but there are small rivers flowing down from where they are. If they followed the correct road, one of those small creeks should be nearby. Turning west, Maurice steps over branches and climbs over stones covered in moss. A hiss behind him makes his pulse lurch and he jumps off and turns around, dagger in hand. Loud rustling and a squeal resound, then something takes off again. Slowly moving away, Maurice keeps his eyes peeled. As nothing happens after twenty steps, he turns around again and searches of the creek.

By the time he returns from the sap green woods, they appear dark and almost black in the fading sunlight. Beau has stacked up a good amount of firewood next to a neatly dug fire pit. Together they build a hanging for the filled cauldron. Nott busies herself with her flintstone, crouched low over a bundle off dried up moss and small twigs. As Maurice looks around, he sees Ginger next to a young oak, cleaning himself. Small specks of red around his mouth and the last remains of a squirrel laying not much further away.

“Seems like someone already had dinner.” Maurice comments, stepping closer.

"Oh-" Nott jumps and her hand quickly snatches the leash where it lays next to her in the grass.

"I'm sorry, he just looked so uncomfortable and I thought-"

Maurice just shakes his head, taking the leather back from her before making his way over to the cat.

Ginger looks up at him with a doubtful look in his cat eyes.

“Not that I wouldn’t trust our friend here, but right now I think it’s better for us to minimize the risk of him running off.” Maurice says, whistling for Bo. The stallion trots closer and lets Maurice pull him to his side, shaking his head to chase some flies away.

“You want to tie him to the horse?” Nott asks.

“I don’t think he’ll like that.”

“You can bet on that, but I’d rather not lose our mage because he went hunting in the middle of the night.” The knight steps closer again and quickly shoves the sling over Ginger's head. The cat growls and jumps, then relents as the knight ties the leash in place. Staring at it with distaste, Ginger bites into the leather and claws at it.

“Yeah, I’m sorry.” Maurice apologizes, checking the knot of the leash to Bo’s saddle.

“Do not let him get away.” He tells the horse and pats its nose as it nickers in return.

Then Maurice goes to loosely tie Bo to a tree, next to where Beau’s mare is standing.

Sitting back down, Maurice starts pulling carrots and dried meat from his pack. Beau grunts and hammers the wooden hanging a little deeper into the ground for more stability. Minutes without anybody saying anything go by and then Maurice sighs deeply.

“This is depressing, does anybody of you have anything to say? Or tell a story? We are on a journey, an epic quest! Our first night under the starry sky!”

Instead of an answer, he receives a triumphant cheer from Nott as her kindling catches fire. She quickly carries it over and pushes it into the prepared pile of dried wood.

“Oh heavens, you are no fun at all.” Maurice groans and starts to cut the vegetables.

“Well, we’re hungry. Hungry people want dinner, not chat.” Beau mumbles, Maurice has a feeling that he tries to be nice about it, but there is that small vein on the side of his neck.

“Then let’s get you fed and after that we’ll tell stories.” He acquiesces.

The vegetable are dropped into the boiling water and added to with various herbs. Nott and Beau both scarf down their dinner in a quick flash of movement while Maurice eats slower. Bo and the other two horses are off to the side, grazing and talking to each other with horse sounds. They clean their dishes and as they are ready to settle in for the night as the first stars have started to emerge above them.

Ginger circles around where he is bound to Bo and lays down next to his hooves, gazing into the gleaming coals. He lays his fuzzy chin onto his paws and he seems oddly reminiscing, like a very important decision lays before him. Beau has his legs stretched into the air, touching his feet with his hands as he stretches and then rolls over into a low crouch.

“I’ll do some stretches.” He announces and goes a few feet away from the fire.

There he starts to move through the stances and winding himself into different positions. Maurice contemplates joining him for a few seconds, then he instead goes to grab the mage’s belongings.

“You said this is what he had with him as he arrived?” The knight asks Nott, who jolts and then looks at him.

“Yes, it’s what I found in his chambers.”

Going through the two sacks, the mage has a large collection of books, some valuable and richly decorated, others done in an unreadable handwriting with small drawings of creatures creeping along the edges of the pages. One book, a thin leather tome, stands out from the others. It’s bound with a thread that has a golden gleam to it and not matter how hard Maurice tries, the knot holding it together won’t budge. He pulls on one coil and thinks it might come off when there is another and the whole thing is as tight as before. Swearing, Maurice lets the book fall back inside the pack and digs deeper. There are small bottles with substances, unlabeled. He puts them to the side as well. Then there are tools made of copper, finely crafted.

Multiple sacks of ingredients, most of them unknown or unidentifiable to Maurice, a map and a dried up, elongated clawed paw. Three claws, bony and sharp, poking out of the wrappings around the appendage, the wrappings blood red and set through with gold thread that spells out runes and sigils. Though his curiosity is strong, Maurice’s experience and gut feeling is what he listens to and it tells him to not unwrap that thing. He puts it away again and instead focuses on the books that he can actually read at the moment. They are history books, fables and narrations of old fairy tales and rumors regarding their land. Talking about those magical nights when the boundaries between the fey and the human world grow thin.

As Beau comes back from his stretches and falls to the ground next to Maurice, it startles the knight out of his concentration and he puts the books back into the sacks.

“Have any of you ever heard stories of the fey world? The creatures living there?” He asks, folding his hands in his lap.

“I have.” Nott perks up, her slender hands playing with the hem of her shirt.

“The fey would come at night and make the milk go sour if there were no offerings outside the door to appease them. Sometimes they would climb in through the windows and steal from the pantry, leaving small colorful pebbles for the food. There are Seelie, they are mischievous but overall good, then there are the Unseelie. They are nightmare beings with sometimes ill intent. Oh! And then there are the pixies-”

She lifts her hands and mimics big ears, flapping back and forth.

“They have ears like a donkey and sharp teeth, some have wings and some others are covered in fur. But none of them is bigger than a child no matter how old they are.”

“Those would be kobolds and pucks. I heard that fey get as big as humans. And then there are archfey that are even bigger.” Maurice smiles, taking a stick and lightly tapping it on the ground.

“I have heard of the fey, they are elegant and powerful. Whenever those walk over into our lands, there are lights dancing through the forests and the stars move across the sky. People say that in the darkest nights, the chivalry of the Seelie court rides across the lands in search for the moon.” Nott goes on, her eyes sparkling.

Beau snorts and props his head up on a hand.

“All the stories I ever heard of were about the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. I went looking for one and it kept getting away from me. Oh, and I also heard about those hill giants? That most hills we see are giants sleeping because there was… Ugh, what was it again?” The squire curls his hand through his hair and thinks hard.

Meanwhile Maurice puts more wood on the fire and lets his gaze wander out towards the open field.

“A promise. A promise about something but I forgot.” Beau huffs.

“I heard about the hill giants too!” Nott adds, her eyes glowing brighter.

“They have big cloaks made of moss and furs, their beards like a mass of gnarled roots and trees growing on their heads. When they were told to sleep, they just sat down, tugged their heads between their knees and covered themselves with their cloaks. I saw a hill that had a sleeping face in its side, it was a drawing but I’m sure it’s real!”

“Well if that is true, now I understand why I feel watched whenever I ride through hills.” Maurice chuckles.

“There are also the bad fairies. Those that do bad curses and wish for havoc wherever they go, the Unseelie. Some steal kids or nail a chicken to your doorstep to entice the evil into hour home.” Nott whispers, clearly excited about her knowledge of otherworldly creatures and their habits.

Maurice blinks in her direction, his face displaying a placid smile.

“They are out there, yes.” He then says, looking into the night again.

“So we should stop talking about such things in the night, who knows what or who might hear us?” He picks up a small twig and scratches it over the ground.

Beau looks like he wants to protest but then shuts his mouth again and pokes at the fire. Maurice turns around and looks at his companions.

“Who’s up for first watch?”

Beau raises his hand.

“Good, then I’ll be second. Is that okay for you Nott?”

“I’m an early riser, sure.”

“Good, then it’s gonna be me to do the midnight shift. Wake me after that round of wood has burned down, Beau.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Maurice chuckles and ruffles his squires loose top knot, getting an irritated sound out of him as strands of hair fall loose.

He walks away from the firelight, checking on the horses and Ginger. He pulls a small satchel of salt from his pack and starts making a fine line, drizzling grains in a line around their campsite. The salt is red, mixed with squished wild berries and thyme before drying it again. Maybe he is being overly careful, but their talk has set him on edge. As the circle is closed and that settled, Maurice crawls into this bedroll and snuggles deep into it. Four weeks of travel at least lay ahead of them before they will make it to Camelot. And then hopefully find Merlin there and not away on some secret affair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🏵


	8. Under a Dark Sky

_Waning Crescent – Sixth Night_

Ginger watches the squire sit and stare into the fire. Above him the moon nears his apex, a very thin curved line before the New Moon. It looks like an eye slowly peeking open, like Ginger’s half closed eyes in the firelight. He keeps watching the boy, who throws another cloud of sparks into the night, small flames and crackling sounds breaking the darkness and silence of the night.

Slowly, Ginger gets up and wanders towards a tree, the oak tree he had sat underneath before while grooming after his meal, tugging on the leash. The horse he is bound to snorts and looks down at him. The horse follows Ginger and comes to stand underneath the tree where the other two horses are tied as well. Sneaking around the tree trunk, Ginger sniffs the line of salt, recoiling from it, and then he sits down and watches the moon climb, waiting. The squire retires for the night and the knight, gets up and groans. He walks over to where the horses and Ginger are, patting Bo on the side. Then he goes to another tree and reliefs himself, Ginger stares at him as any cat does. The knight finishes and walks back towards the fire, sitting down cross-legged. Ginger waits.

As the moon reaches close to its zenith, a ripple travels through the cat’s fur, hair falling away to reveal human skin. His paws elongate and become hands. His irises, still blue, grow around a circular pupil and the face morphs into that of a man with beard and long red hair. Frantically, the man starts to loosen the knot on the collar around his neck that has grown tight, loosening it enough to not choke anymore. He is naked as he sits underneath the oak tree, his hands and feet dirty. A lithe body with knees up to his chest. A name no one knows but himself. It’s a good name, a new name. One to get away from his teacher and closer to his mother.

Looking over his shoulder, the man sees that the knight appears to be deep in thought, looking out over the plane. Not looking in the direction of the horses. Then he sets to opening the knot, fingers working fast and nimble. But before he can succeed his hands are paws again and a frustrated sigh escapes him as he watches fur grow over his arms and legs, his ears become big and fuzzy. The moon moves over the apex and a cat is there again, a ginger cat, but much larger than any cat most people have ever seen or will ever see in their lives. It looks sad and slightly disheartened before the expression vanishes and the cat looks placid and ready to take a nap. Instead of slipping out of his now loosened collar, Ginger lays down and put his tail around himself to sleep for a few hours.

_New Moon_

On the new moon night, Ginger lays peacefully by the small firepit the humans had made, his flanks rising slowly with his breaths.

Maurice feels almost bad for putting the leather around his neck but doesn’t dare to risk the cursed mage running off. Instead he goes on to pour over the books he found in the bag of the mage. One is telling him about the constellations in the sky and how they move from east to west, some in circles and some vanish for a period of time while others stay firmly afixed to the sky. He knows some of them already, but the mythology behind them fascinates him. He finds it very interesting, connecting the dots between them and looking up at the night sky to find the figures spread out over the black velvet. Ginger's tail twitches from time to time.

_Waxing Crescent – First Night_

The day has been uneventful travelling, Ginger looked at flowers and grass as they passed by and tried to catch another squirrel. The last one seems to have been a particularly inattentive individual because all his attempts are thwarted by the small rodents darting off. The dark horse is a nice travel companion. He doesn’t try to tough him much or make strange noises like the knight does when Ginger walks near him. The man is clothed in as many colours as some of the songbirds that Ginger sees sitting high above in their trees. And the knight flashes Ginger his teeth, which reminds the cat of other, more held back times he has seen them. And the knight also tries to pet him seldomly, which Ginger does not tolerate.

With grace, Ginger evades his advances again and circles around the campsite that the grumpy squire and the nice lady have made. He watches the squire and the knight sparring, hand to hand combat as they punch and kick at each other, circling each other. They are sweaty and panting when they end it, the knight emerging victorious after pinning the squire to the ground with his weight. After that, the squire sits down and starts a fire while the knight vanishes to wash up. Later on, after quickly scarfing down his dinner, the squire takes off and comes back with damp hair while his companions are still eating.

This time Ginger makes a point of laying down close to the squire at night, but still gets the leash pulled over his head. Ginger bites at it and hisses, very unhappy about it. The night falls and he becomes agitated. Looking around he sees a small gathering of underbrush. It has to be enough. Nudging the dark horse along, Ginger slowly creeps out of the firelight and into the darkness.

Beau looks up and sees him leave, but with Bo bound to him, there is nothing that the squire has to worry about as Bo is a trained war horse.

The knight lightly snores in his sleep, one hand slipped inside his shirt collar while he lays on his back. As Ginger passes, he sniff the man, determining that he doesn’t smell half bad. Herbal and a little like clear water. But not nearly as good as his master.

Reaching the small shrub, Ginger lays down and waits, the thin slither of a moon is creeping up to its apex. The horse stands behind him, keeping a silent vigil over the events that happen. A little bit before the moon’s highest point, shivers run through Ginger and he transforms back into a man. The man looks disoriented for a second, then he scrambles once more for the choking collar and loosens it. This night he knows the knot and manages to get it off of him. Taking a deep breath, he slumps back and looks at the night sky. The horse inquisitively lowers its snout to nuzzle the side of his face, making a smile appear on the man’s face.

“Hallo.” He says with a voice that is hoarse from disuse.

The horse nickers quietly and then there is a male voice grumbling. The moon moves over his apex and a little further, while that happens the man spends his time looking over the brush at the campsite. Another man sits there, clad in colorful clothing and very high boots. His unruly and dark locks form a mop on top of his head. He has a stick with which he disturbs the embers and sends little sparks flying into the air, digging his naked toes into the damp grass. The man hiding behind the bush shivers and his blue eyes look up at the sky. It’s time again. Sighing, he cinches the collar around his neck before the transformation takes place.

Ginger leaps out from behind the vegetation and saunters over to the knight, deliberately stopping in front of him.

“How did you manage to loosen your leash again?” The knight asks in confusion and reaches out, but Ginger couldn’t care less. Instead he just lays down and curls into a loaf, a pretty big one, and sleeps, slightly jostled by the knight fuzzing over the leash.

_Waxing Crescent – Second Night_

The knight and the grumpy squire are sparring again today. After some disputing they found sticks in the woods nearby and start banging them together. If Ginger had to think of it as a game, it seems to have the objective of who made the loudest bang. Or who made the most of them?

Anyway, it was too much for his sensitive ears, so he wanders off and away from them to instead sit next to the nice maid. She throws him a crooked smile and then resumes fiddling with her cloak. A silver needle blinks in the sunlight and she sticks it back into the fabric.

“I’m sewing in some loops for daggers.” She says, hooking her index finger through one loop and tugging.

“You might never know what dangers lay beyond the guarded streets of the counties. There is a lot of wilderness out there still, with bandits and monsters.”

The maid pulls a very small but also very sharp metal thing from her pack and holds it to the loop. Ginger resists the urge to sniff at it, the metal shines cold and hard into his eyes.

As she continues to sew, shouts and the occasional painful yelp resound from the two fighters with their sticks and Ginger lazily looks over to them. The knight is circling the squire with one hand behind his back, the stick held at ease by his side. The squire on the other side clutches his stick with both hands and bares his teeth, a sizeable bruise starting to bloom on his upper arm.

Very determinedly he charges towards the knight, who sidesteps and parries the oncoming blow. Bark goes flying as the sticks connect and the squire whirls around using his left-over energy, receiving a light pat on his ankle as he sidesteps around the knight.

“Back in position Beau.”

Ginger likes that they spend the first half of the day in one place, he finally has the time to go and do a little exploring. He finds a very comfortable patch of moss and sleeps for an hour or two before the whinny of horses wakes him up again. Looking around, he sees the knight helping the maid loading the master’s belongings onto the sand-coloured horse he travelled on with his master before. Languidly stretching, Ginger trots over and resumes his place in front of the maid as they ride back onto the stomped earth of the road.

During the nighttime the cat vanishes behind a shrub again. Thirty-five heartbeats later, a man sits underneath the leaves, hands flying to his neck in reflex. As he notices there is no collar strangling him, the man just sits and nibbles on his fingertips. Throwing a glance over his shoulder, he sees that pack is too far away, and he barely has enough cover from the shrub. It’s a cool tonight, his teeth chatter occasionally, and he rubs his hands over his arms. The crackling of the fire behind him doesn’t help and only reminds him of how naked he is. Very unpleasant. And nothing to do to distract him with. If he had a book, he would hardly feel the cold.

Spying over at the fire, the knight is sitting there again, holding his silent vigil. The nice horse stands a few feet away from him. Cautiously and slowly, the man pouts his lips and makes a quiet kissy noise, eyes trained on the horse. Maybe it will come over and he can pet it. Another cold breeze wafts over him and he shivers miserably, wishing to transform and have the fur back soon. The horse, a stallion, looks over like he had more felt the eyes watching him than the luring sounds. Snorting softly, he makes his way over and starts dozing off where he stands. Gently the man strokes the fetlocks and legs of the wonderful animal, marveling at the ink like colour. It’s nice, he feels less cold already.

The man continues to pet the horse, waiting for the moment that he will turn back. Unfortunately, he can't just walk over into the firelight, demand to have his things handed back to him and have it over with. The moon is not fat enough yet for him to do anything of use during the nighttime. And he very much appreciates the pets. Blushing, the man ruffles a hand through his auburn and ginger hair.

Looking up over the hulking form of the stallion, he sees the moon passing over the sky, the shivers start and once more there is a big, ginger cat. Silently curling up and falling asleep.

_Waxing Crescent – Third Night_

The moon has grown, but it is still very thin. Sometimes he manages to peek through the cloud cover, then he is gone again. The squire goes to bed and the knight gets up, rubbing his eyes and making a detour to scratch Ginger behind an ear. Then the knight sits himself down and yawns heartily. Ginger keeps him company a little longer, then goes over and chitters up to the nice horse. The dark stallion nickers back and the knight smiles crookedly at their exchange. Elegantly, Ginger stands and slinks behind the tree as his eyes wander back to the embers.

He settles down and waits for the transformation to take place. As the man is back to his normal body, he scratches the nice horse like the night before, willing the chills away while he wearily looks up at the moon hidden behind clouds. Nothing much happens. The night sounds drift around him, the knight humming quietly and the light flickers over the grass. Due to nothing better to do, the man turns around quietly and watches the knight’s profile in the fire light while he counts the minutes.

The knight's shirt hangs open indecently, revealing his collarbones and muscular chest. His hand is loosely holding a stick, elegant but also big, built to hold a sword. They are good hands the man thinks and spends the time he has tracing their many different movements and the way the shadows dance over them. As he feels the fur pressing from underneath his skin, the man stops counting. Fourty-seven minutes. It's enough to plan something for the next night.

He turns around and curls up as the shivers overtake him once more. Only seconds later, there is Ginger again, sprawling lazily under the night sky with a deeply satisfied look on his face. As the knight goes to wake the nice maid for watch, Ginger walks over as well and spends the rest of the night asleep by her side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wild Caleb appears!
> 
> Next chapter will be up on August 21st :)


	9. Sir Leonhardt and the Willowgast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week there will be no new chapter! Taking a little break but will be back with more :)

The bruise Beau had given him during their pre-dinner sparring stings a little as Maurice sits down underneath a willow tree. There are several around their camp, indicating that water isn’t far away. He grumbles quietly, rubbing arnica tincture into the beginning blossom of dark blue, right on his biceps, the muscle feeling tense and hardened.

Maurice tucks the small vial back into his pack and pulls his small booklet out. Thumbing through it, he nibbles on his lower lip and organizes the events of the day to write down.

There had been breakfast, then the weather had turned cold and damp, making all of them gloomy. He had spent the time teaching Beau about weapon care, making sure that the squire would be able to tend to Maurice’s axe and crossbow. His sword, he had told Beau, was something he would take care of personally. As the squire had looked at him with confusion, Maurice had told him that it's sentimental. Which is partly true.

Then their conversation had wandered off to Beau’s first weapon choice. They had both been of the opinion, that the squire should have a weapon as soon as possible. For now though, Maurice is of the opinion that the squire still has a lot to learn in regard to wielding an axe or a sword. He was far better with his fists and kicks. But nevertheless, he needed to get used to the weight and feeling of a sword in his hands, on his hip, by the side of his bedroll. Better sooner than later, Maurice thinks and marks it down in his little book as urgent.

Tapping the quill to his lower lip and turning the pages, Maurice contemplates knuckle bracers or heavy combat gloves with metal spikes as an addition. It would be a shame to not further his squires skills of hand combat. He was so damn quick, Maurice was impressed.

Nott had followed their weapon conversation with rapt attention and even asked some very interesting questions about throwing techniques, balancing and sharpening knifes or any kind of blade. It was surprising to Maurice that a maid would be interested in such things, but he was happy to provide. Maybe she wanted to sharpen her kitchen knives. The cat had trailed next to the horses, behaving better than any of them had ever anticipated without a leash holding it in place. Ginger occasionally demanded from Nott to make space for him to hop on, after which he then curled up and tucked his nose under his bushy tail to nap for an hour or two. For the last four evenings, the cat caught his own food and stayed by the camp site. Maurice had thought it would be a so much more difficult and bothersome job to get the cat to Camelot, but if he continued to be this well behaved, he sees no problem with accomplishing his task. He could even see himself getting attached to it's prescence and character.

Shaking his head, Maurice reminds himself that he is talking about a mage that is caught in the form of a cat.

Beau grumbles in his sleep, turning from one side to the other, his longer hair hanging into his face and mouth. Nott is curled into a tiny ball and Ginger has found his resting place between the willow tree’s roots, just outside the firelight.

As he reaches an empty one, Maurice wedges his finger between the pages. One-handedly, he unscrews his ink and sets it down on the ground next to his boot. Bo ambles over and dips his nose between the long willow branches, snorting contently as he rubs against the smooth bark. Without much thought, Maurice pats the stallion's chest and starts writing.

He's just finished writing down the training session with their wooden sticks, as he hears a tiny crack. It’s loud enough to make him pause and listen into the night. But there is only quiet and the occasional rustle. The tension leaves his shoulders again.

Setting the tip of his quill back on the paper he tries to write but the ink has dried up. Maurice curses quietly and lightly scratches it off with his fingernail. Then he dips the quill back into the ink and resumes writing about the improvements he noticed today and what other things they had to improve with Beau’s fighting style. Not much with boxing or kicking, but a lot if it comes to swordfighting.

\---------------

Waiting for nightfall, the man called Caleb by none other than himself, creeps through the shadow of an impressive _Salix pendulum_. He is a little surprised that no fey has yet made their homestead in the tree, given its unique spot above an underground spring and its wonderfully opulent growth. The knight’s horse wants to come closer again, snorting and nuzzling through the branches for pets but Caleb backs away slowly, trying to get around the campsite. As a twig snaps under the stallion’s hooves, he jolts and watches with big eyes as the knight perks up from where he sits hunched over his writing.

Looking angrily up at the stallion gazing at him, Caleb stands still, almost not daring to breathe. As the knight lowers his gaze back on the pages in front of him, Caleb blinks in relief. Slowly, he makes his way around the willow and then through the shadows that pool just out of reach of the firelight. He had cast a glamor over himself, making in his usual mage clothes billow around his lithe frame. The deep red robes blend perfectly into the dark night but Caleb still shivers in the cold night air as the illusion does nothing to keep the cold at bay.

He has just felt so uncomfortable seeing himself creeping around naked that he threw the glamour over himself. Making an effort to be quiet he makes slow progress but then finally reaches the other side of camp where the maid is laying curled into a ball. Keeping an eye on the knight, Caleb tries to determine if the knight is concentrated enough on his task for him to make a move. But the randomly twitching leg tells Caleb a different story, brown eyes sometimes skim over the vicinity before they dip back down onto the pages to skim over written lines.

Pointing out towards the other end of camp, he makes the illusion of a deer break out of the tree line. It’s soundless but fully visible. The knight sees a movement from the corner of his eye and jumps up, hand on his sword. He walks away towards the shape with measured steps, keeping his hand on the sword, ready to draw. The illusionary deer stops and flicks its ears before looking at the knight and taking off over the grass and into the night.

Quickly, Caleb steps forward and grabs one of his bags, hoping he gets the right one. He is quiet and the maid doesn't wake up. With his prize, he ducks behind the tree line, walks until he is well away from the camp. A soft smile playing over his feature, he settles down on the soft leaves that cover the forest floor. Caleb reaches into the bag and immediately the warmth of his research tome presses into his hand like a cat welcoming him home, a relieved sigh escaping him into the cold night air. The shivering is forgotten as he pulls out the thin, leather bound book that is wrapped in a golden cord. Mumbling a few words, a small light floats next to his head and as he presses his hand to the cover and forces a little bit of his energy into the book, the knot unravels, and the cord falls limp. Hungrily, his eyes skim over pages made of heavy, cream coloured paper, soaking up the neathly written words in a spidery script and deep red ink.

Leaving through it, the pages multiply under Caleb's hands, one become three and then five, filled neatly with scribbles and drawings, sketches and some leaves, strands of fur and the leaves of herbs pressed in between the pages, their smells drifting up from where they lay. Caleb mumbles as he goes, then he stops on one page that folds out three times into a long strip of parchment. It's filled with lines, narrow paragraphs and equations. He taps some passages, they start glowing and float to a different position on the page. His eyes skim over it with rapt attention, filtering through the information. While he reads, Caleb's brain runs through what he needs to do.

He has spent most of his time since his graduation with collecting information on locating entrances to the fey world. And he found them, or else he wouldn't be in his current predicament. Damn that fey cat...

But without his equipment and at least three hours to calculate, there is no hope for him to even roughly narrow down the latitude, altitude and current size of the entrances, and even then there is still a high probability of him arriving at the spot and the right time might have passed. He doesn’t have enough time to do that now, but the moon is waxing. He can be patient for a few more nights, and as soon as he has at least four hours in his human form, he could make a break for it and vanish. Knowing that the full moon would present him with two full days and nights to finish his work makes him chew his smile in anticipation.

Going by the current moon phase, he might be able to split from the group three nights from tonight, given the chance. He then would make as much headway through the night as possible. And then he’ll vanish from this blasted country and to never be found again. Grumbling quietly, he closes his research tome, the pages flattening out again and the cord reties itself as soon as the skin contact is broken. Carefully, Caleb pushes the book back into the bag, searching for a different book, the one on constellations and navigation. He hopes it made it into the sack.

Cold steel presses into the soft flesh of Caleb’s throat and makes his blood freeze to ice. He didn't heard anybody stepping closer. How could he have been so unattentive! Fear bites into Caleb’s spine and he doesn’t dare to move a muscle.

“Who are you?”

It’s the knight’s voice, Caleb recognizes it and he blinks. What should he say? What is he supposed to say to not sustain any injuries? Thousands of thoughts race through his head. There is a chance the knight doesn't know who he is. Which would only mean that he could cut Caleb down where he sits. And another problem is, that Caleb doesn't know why the cat is running around with this group. They could be sent by his former teacher. And if that was the case, Caleb can’t tell him this name that every other mage knows him by, he can’t be delivered back into that man's claws. He doesn't want to loose the means of travel and the opportunity to flee.

Thinking frantically, he stares into the dark forest in front of him and then quickly risks a glance down on the sword. It’s angled and could easily slip over his throat should he try to bolt. Caleb’s fingers itch with a spell. Magic hums through the blade, tendrils brushing over Caleb’s skin and entangling with his own magic. Not hostile but neutral like a bear would look upon a mouse, just a questioning touch and curiosity.

“Answer me or I will make you talk.” The knight says, his voice cold and commanding.

His breath growing quicker, Caleb panics and tries to think of something while the cogs in his brain chew themselves apart. Cold stabs of icy fear pierce Caleb's gut, he grits his teeth and wills himself to remain calm. To sink down into his centre and regain his ability to think rational.

Whenever he needs to dip into the small, tranquil pool inside himself, he imagines his mother's face. Soft, gentle and encouraging. Closing his eyes, Caleb let’s that little spark of his mother that lives inside him take over and guide his actions.

“Wi-Willowgast.” He breathes quietly into the night and jolts as he recognises the voice. Wonderful, he congratulates himself, giving the knigth his mother’s name in his mother’s voice.

“Willowgast? What are you doing here, with things that don’t belong to you?” The knight asks.

“I- I was just curious, Sir.” Caleb whispers softly.

“Out here in the dead of night in a forest? It's hard to believe that you aren’t a thug spending her days living in the woods by stealing from travelers. Woman or not.” The knight goes on, lifting the sword slightly to have Caleb tip his head back a little more to catch a look at his face.

“I’m not a… It’s – it’s just the right time for us fey to be out, Sir.” Caleb goes on, laying a glamor over his face, shining green eyes and his hair to shimmer like shinnied copper, lips with just the right genlte curve he remembers from so many years past. The energy for a fire bolt is coiling just underneath the skin of Caleb’s hand should the knight decide to go for his head. Blinking up with his green glowing eyes, Caleb hopes that he will get out of this unscathed. He can’t see the knight’s face, instead staring up into the canopy of trees with rustling leaves above them.

“By the- “ The knight gasps and his sword moves away a little.

“You’re a fey?”

“Yes, Sir.” Caleb says, he doesn’t dare to swallow, his throat still too close to the sharp edge of the sword for comfort.

A deep sigh resounds from the knight and he shifts his weight, Caleb can hear it in the rustle of the leaves on the ground. Why hadn't he heard anything before?

“Hand back the bag. You took anything from it?”

“No, Sir.”

With slow movements, Caleb holds the bag out towards the knight and feels the sword’s edge press ever so slightly into this skin as the knight leans foward.

The steel vanishes and the bag is quickly snatched away from Caleb, who then lowers his arm and resists clenching his fists in frustration. Those are his books. His life’s work.

Caleb scrambles to his feet, getting some distance between himself and the knight. Holding the sword by his side, sleeve hanging low as the shirt has slid down his shoulder, the man stands in the shadows of the trees with the firelight dancing through his curly hair from behind. Turning a little to the side, Caleb can see that the knight is looking him up and down. Then he takes a stance.

“I apologize, I didn’t notice you were a fey, I hope you can find it in you to forgive me. Though it is not nice to go and steal other people’s possessions. I hope I didn’t hurt you, it would very much pain me.” The knight speaks, his head cocked just so that his dark locks tumble over his left shoulder. Reflexively, Caleb puts his hand to the spot where the sword had touched him but feels nothing apart from a slightly irritated patch of skin. Mutely, he shakes his head to show that he is alright.

“Again, I’m very sorry." The knight speaks, then he sheaths his sword and slips his other hand inside a pocket on his belt. He produces a thin piece of folded birch bark. 

"Please take this in apology.” He holds it out to Caleb with an expectant gleam in his eyes. Hesitantly Caleb reaches out to take it and unfolds it. Inside it, there is honey mixed with lavender, chamomile and clover blossoms. It’s a thick, amber drop the size of the tip of his thumb.

“Oh.” He gasps, breathing in the heady scent and picking it apart in his head. The small spark of his mother inside hime hums happily and his mouth begins to water.

“How do you know that we fey love honey with these herbs?” Caleb then asks curiously, jumping a little with the voice resounding form his throat. Schooling his face into calm, he licks his lips and then sticks the bark into his mouth to suck on it. He might not be a real fey, but he won’t turn down the offer of some honey.

The knight smiles crookedly and takes a step backwards.

“I’m a little knowledgeable about fey and things connected to them. It’s a curiosity of mine. Now please be on your way, we’ll leave this place tomorrow and make sure to leave everything behind in perfect condition. Farewell, Willowgast.”

A quick bow and the knight turns to leave. Caleb feels his heart jump and he quickly pulls the bark from his mouth, taking a step after the man.

“Wait, what is your name? How do you-?”

The knight turns back around, his dark eyes glimmering red as the fire dances inside them.

"How do I what?"

“How do you know these things? And your sword...” Caleb reigns his tongue in, feeling his stomach clench as the knight’s hand settles on the sword’s hilt again.

“Of course, you felt it. I’m yet again very sorry for scaring you and touching you with it.”

“You're not a normal knight. Who are you?” Caleb asks.

The knight blinks, contemplating something. Then he smacks his lips and straightens his shoulders to stand at his full height.

“My Name is Sir Maurice Leonhardt of the Emerald Lake. But as you are a fey, you may have heard of the Mollymauk, which is me." The knight bows elegantly while Caleb feels his eyes widen in shock.

"And now, good night.”

The Mollymauk walks away with Caleb’s pack slung over his shoulder. Caleb stares after him with a weird mixture of fear, excitement and wonder bubbling in his stomach. A veritable legend of the fey world, the Mollymauk. He can’t believe that his travel companion could be someone so inherent to many tales and ballads. The rumors Caleb has heard, the stories they tell about this entity…. His fingers itch to write into his book but it’s gone. And then there is the problem of why the cat is travelling with him? This could make his escape so much more difficult.

Just as he is about to become very frustrated with this new detail of his situation, the shift back into the fey cat's body starts and Caleb just sighs before he once more falls into sleep.

\---------------

Sitting down in his spot again, a man called Molly by no one but himself while many other entities call him the Mollymauk, listens closely to any noises that might pierce through the quiet night. That fey had been very strange, but nonetheless a fey. Looking female, high cheekbones and hair flowing like the willow they carry in their name. With the offer of honey and to not disturb their place of dwelling, they should be taken care of. Furrowing his brows, Molly watches his companions sleep. One day he has to tell Beau about his real name and those other things. Molly leans his head back against the tree, looking up to the stars that twinkle through the branches. He is sure that his squire did not sign up for that level of bullshit, but they all had to make do somehow with the things that life throws their way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be up on September 4th :)  
> Don't forget to love each other <3


	10. Sir Leonhardt and the Three Highwaymen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back with a fresh chapter :)
> 
> Enjoy!

The next day greets Nott with a wonderful sunrise, the willows enveloped in fog, and everything is bathed in a silvery-golden hue. As they set out again, the grass sparkles and the air tastes fresh, making the maid grin with delight.

Molly could see her cheerful demeanor crumbling away as they stopped short of a tree that had been felled to lay across the road. It was quite a large oak, branches broken and mangled, wounds still oozing. Three unkempt men climbed out of the bush by the roadside as the travel group came to a halt, one wearing an axe over his shoulder, the other two donning rusted swords that would be better suited for clubbing than cutting.

To his amusement, all three of them seemed to be related if not the same person in varying versions. They all had brown tufts of hair, curling into locks at the napes of their necks, blue eyes and flat noses with flaring nostrils. The only thing making them different was their respective build.

One was big and slender, feet slightly crooked, the other broad and fat with a barrel chest. The last one was packed with muscles and he was the same height as the broad one with deep sunken eyes.

“Halt!” They cry out in unison, taking a stance behind the log with hands on their weapons and chins tilted up with deviance.

“Give us all your money and valuables and we shall let you pass unharmed.” The slender one proclaims.

“If not, we will take all of it by force, even your horses.” The muscled one says. The broad one simply nods and tightens the grip on his axe. Adjusting his seat, Molly leans forward on his pommel, miming a shallow bow.

“Good day to you as well , respected gentlemen. This little ambush of yours it quite unfortunate, as you are sure to know.” Molly lifts his voice, holding himself with ease and a polite smile.

“How so?” The slender one asks, seemingly the one designated to do the talking.

“You’ve managed to run into a combat-savory knight and his squire, both knowledgeable in many ways of combat. Then we have a woman with us, skilled in the ways of posion and what a sharp blade can do.” He gestures behind himself towards Ginger and Nott.

Nott tries to look as threateningly as possible, slowly opening her cloak to let the sewn in daggers light up in the sunlight. Meanwhile Ginger stares at the trio unblinkingly, fur standing on end. Molly hoped that his size was unsettling enough.

“And the woman has brought her trained beast. Your blunt swords and puny axe are outnumbered by far.” He gestures towards the items.

Most times Molly had come across people like those three, they were nothing but bark but not bite. Had had an idea while drinking too much and not wanting to go out and tend to the stock or fields.

 _Now let them come to their own conclusions. Go back to their homes and fields_ , Molly thinks. The three highwaymen look at each other, furrowing their brows. Molly rests one hand on his sword pommel, shoulders at ease.

The logic continuation to this was that the three would realize that they are outmatched, they would turn and run off.

The highwaymen end their silent council and turn back around.

“We will not let you pass. That one over there may looks like a squire but he's as thin as my little sister, probably can't even lift an axe.” The broad one nods and only grins broader.

“Your squire is a flimsy little boy, no beard or muscle on that twig.” The slender one continues, earning himself a massive stink eye from Beau. The boy tighents his grip on the reigns.

“And you, Sir Knight, you look like someone more concerned with their pretty face than anything, so why don't you spare yourself a black eye or two.”

"Brother, why not just hit them?" The broad one asks, talking for the first time.

"My thought exactly." The muscular one gripes.

"They deserve a lesson, all of these knights and squires on high horses."

“I did not expect to have to deal with three highwaymen with more hair than wits.” Molly counters pointedly.

“Should you care for a good beating, we’ll be happy to provide. Beau!” He calls without taking his eyes away, waiting for the squire to ride up beside him. He knows he can take two of them, but three are a problem. Molly is glad that Beau is with them, being able to flank him or look out for his back. They both dismount and walk over towards the three men.

“Aye, look at that, the bean pole and the pretty boy wanna tussle!” The broad one taunts, showing three black teeth while laughing.

“I’ll kick ya arse.”

Molly doesn’t say a word. He simply grips his sword tighter and waits for them to strike first, his other hand on the hilt of his axe. In his head, he already maps out the fight. Let the idiots jump over the tree, whistle Bo's signal to round up the rear and send Beau to his weaker left side. The muscled one’s eyes flicker over him and then he grins maliciously.

“And then I’ll deal with the little girl.”

“You wanna say that to my face?!” Beau hisses, eyes narrowed and voice a dangerous tremble. Stepping closer to the tree, the broad one continues to spit his insults, his pungent smell gets carried over with the wind.

“A weak little girly, bean pole. Ya wanna come over here and teach me a lesson?” He croons and laughs.

Beau scrunches his nose up and looks at Molly. He feels pride swell in his heart at how controlled and unaffected Beau is, not giving in to the taunting highwayman.

“You really think that-“ He begins to say as Beau jumps over the tree and straight up punches the muscular one on the nose, not even bothering with the axe Molly had given him.

Both go down in a heap and Molly stands dumbfounded for a second before he jumps into the fray as well. The axe the broad one had carried lays discarded on the ground and the other two highwaymen have yet to draw their swords, so Molly goes to kick one of them in the guts and rounds on the other to kick him to the ground as well.

Behind him, the slender one jumps out of the way and tries to grip Beau by the collar. He manages to get a handful, prying the squire off his brother, only to be greeted with an elbow to his temple, his eyes rolling back as bone connects with bone. He groans but valiantly holds his ground, but his hand opens and drops Beau as he stumbles. The squire dances around him and but gets hit by a punch from the muscular one.

The punch carries Beau back into the slender one’s stomach, causing the slender one to fold in two with a pained howl. Beau quickly rolls off, escaping a kick from the muscular. The slender one gurgles and sinks to the ground. Beau crawls further away from the muscular one who is advancing on him, stumbling to get back on his feet.

Molly runs over to where the mucular one is advancing on Beau, not seeing that the slender one draws a shivering breath and grips the axe that lays close to him on the ground, crawling after his brother.

Just as Molly reaches the highwayman, the slender one lifts the axe and swings. He howls as a dagger hits his shoulder, drawing the axe in a wide arc to miss the squire. Hearing the impact close to him, Beau flinches away on instinct and lets the muscular one out of his sight who quickly closes the distance, sword drawn.

“Shit-“

Beau falls over his own feet, arm shooting out to either catch him or hold onto something. It happens to be the axe, a deep crack appearing on the shaft and then a loud crunch as the axe breaks right behind the head. The momentum flings the shaft through the air, directly against the muscular one’s forehead, knocking him out cold. He falls to the ground with his sword held over his head.

“Come here ya weakling.” The broad one howls. Nott screams but it's too late as he's behind Molly and toppels him to the ground. Using the impact energy, Molly rolls over his shoulder and then rounds on his enemy.

“I’ll teach you to call me weak.” Molly growls, jumping over some of the oak's branches. He sees the slender one laying in his way, attempting to draw his sword from the sheath. One foot shooting out, he hits the the slender one on the head who then falls over like a sack of grain. Fixing his eyes on the remaining highwayman, Beau spits on the ground and barrels forward with a loud cry towards the him.

Molly feels cold panic for his squire trickle down his spine, legs starting before his mind can even command them to. He is just quick enough to pull Beau out of the way, before the broad one rounds on him with a heavy punch. The squire yelps in surprise, then the last highwayman barrels towards them. Molly pushes Beau out of the way and rolls off to the side. The mass of fat and meat comes flying towards them, too much momentum to stop. Then the broad one just screams as his head makes a loud crack as it makes contact with the tree trunk. He falls to the ground and makes no more sound.

Breathing heavily, Molly lets go of his undrawn sword, taking in the situation around them. All highwaymen lay unconcious, chests heaving. Feeling the adrenalin slowly subsiding, he draws a deep breath.

“Gods, boy!” Molly calls loudly, rounding on the squire with sparking eyes.

"This was as godsdamn mess!"

Beau jumps and looks at him, seemingly confused with Molly's anger. Reigning himself in, Molly decides to have the talk somewhere else. Instead he waves towards Nott. She kicks her gelding into gear and lets him jump over the tree. Handing back her dagger, Molly nods to her in thanks.

“Get on your horse, Beau.” Molly commands and whistles for Bo to trot over. The stallion narrowly misses stepping on the slender one. Molly pulls a lenght of rope from his saddle bags and starts to wrap the three highwaymen in rope, leaving them by the side of the road. Then he pulls himself up onto Bo and they are off again.

“Shouldn’t we take them to the next castle?” Beau asks, his head turning back to look at the tied up bundles.

“I already have a cat that is supposed to be a mage and a hot-headed squire on my hands. Those highwaymen will find another knight to escort them to jail.” The knight says, eyes firmly fixed ahead of him.

Tense silence filling the space between them as Molly quietly seethes, they make their way through the forest and finally emerge on the other side to be greeted with grassland and the first few settlements.

Molly knows that a fews days ahead of them lies the town of Bedwyn, there first stop after leaving the castle. Beau throws him side glances and holds the reigns in a nervous grip. Nearing midday, Molly signals for them to stop for lunch and dismounts from Bo with a deep furrow between his brows.

“You alright?” Nott asks, stepping closer to him and blinking into the bright sunlight. Taking an iron nail from his pack, Maurice tethers Bo to the ground and turns around to her.

“It’s okay. I just would have preferred to take this fight in a more coordinated way.” He comments, fighting against side-eyeing his squire.

“They were no real challenge though.” Beau scoffs a few feet away, petting his horse.

“They were enough and you underestimated them.” Maurice raises his voice and looks at his squire.

“Do you have any idea how many trained knights find their end on the pointy end of a desperate enough wielded weapon. And you’re no knight, Beau, and your behavior showed poor judgement.”

The boy turns away but Molly can feel the eye roll. The mare snorts and curiously starts to nose at the ground. Feeling the need to drive his point home, Molly steps after Beau.

“Do you understand this, Beau? We talk first, then we may hit somebody and if we do, we keep a level head.”

The boy’s shoulders rise and Molly thinks for a moment that the squire will talk back to him but then Beau just nods quietly, his fists balled.

"Yes, Sir." Then he walks away from the group.

Drawing a deep breath to center himself, Molly rubs his thumb over the pommel of his sword.

“Nott, would you be inclined to fix us a simple lunch? Please.” He asks the maid and then wordlessly gestures over to Beau.

“Yes, no problem, Maurice.”

Nodding towards her in thanks, the knight makes his way over to his squire, stopping briefly as Ginger steps in front of him, tail raised high and meows. Lowering himself slightly, Molly slowly extends his hand and waits for the cat to make the last step. Ginger briefly pushes his head into Molly's palm, like he wants to cheer him up.

“Thank you, Ginger. Things are very strange right now, and this feels somehow wrong. But I won’t turn your affection down, hmm?”

Still, he stops petting the cursed mage, whose big eyes follow him as he walks over to Beau. The boy still has his back to Molly, staring off to the horizon.

“How is your horse treating you?” Molly asks, looking for a easy conversation topic.

“Good.”

Silence fills the space between them and Molly internally kicks himself into gears.

“And have you found an adequate name yet? Something worthy of such a beauty?”

Beau shrugs his shoulders.

“I’m not good with names, I called her Molli. She was a nice maid at home.”

Human Molly jolts for a second.

“M-Molli?”

“Yes. Is that not alright?” Beau looks at him quizzically.

“No, that is… very much alright.” Molly scratches a hand over his jaw to hide his small smile. The odds are very amusing.

“You know, my horse is called Bo.”

Beau looks over at the knight and blinks.

“He has the same name as me?”

Molly grins and shrugs.

“What are the odds, hmm?”

Beau looks over at his namesake and scrunches his nose.

“It’s a good name.”

The lightness of the situation bubbles for a short second, then it’s gone and Molly wrecks his brain how to start with what he really wants to talk about with his squire.

“I- Well Beau. I think we need to have a talk about what happened earlier.”

“I did something wrong. I’m sorry.” Beau says, his voice monotone and he avoids his eyes.

“You’re not sorry.” Molly states lightly, seeing how Beau flinches.

“You know, some years back I would have thought the same as you and done the same.” Molly starts, taking three strands of Molli’s mane and starting to methodically braid them.

“All those drills and training, certainly I had to be better, stronger and faster than these unwashed scoundrels. It seemed easy enough a task to show them where their place in this world is. A chivalrous life, tales and ballads to be sung about the adventures I would brave.” Smiling wistfully, Molly lets the braid fall down.

“But these trainings and drills won’t help you if your oponent outwits you for one fatal second, making you meet your end on a deperate blade. You can't let yourself get carried away, pay them their due respect and don't go holding your nose high up in the air, thinking your better than them.”

Beau listens to Molly with a stoic expression.

“Charging without a plan or calm mind, it gets you killed.“

And Molly turns to look Beau straight in the eyes.

“I’m of the opinion that this tendency of yours should be addressed as soon as possible. You’re short tempered and I don't need a reckless squire who will jump into a fight while overestimating his abilites.”

“I have been trained for years! I was the best in wrestling and I- Those assholes-“ Beau chokes on his own words, fists balling even tighter and his knuckles becoming white.

Fighting with something, the boy grinds his teeth, staring at Molly with flaming eyes. Words seem to press up against his lips, wanting to get out but Beau keeps them inside. Then he just turns and walks away, leaving Molly to look after him.

The knight shifts his weight and clicks his tongue.

“Oh well, could have been worse.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be posted on September 11 :)
> 
> Stay tuned!


	11. Listening and Contemplating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This weeks chapter features an insight in the inner workings of a squire.
> 
> It's quite a hassle to write Beau&Mollymauk friendship with this kind of power imbalance, but I promise I'll get them to bicker and call each other assholes as they should in due time :)

With the feeling of a deep pit in her stomach, Beau walks away and fights against the tears that press up, trying to roll down her cheeks.

Maurice’s words still echoing in her head. He had hit where it hurt the most, the points she liked to use to set herself apart from the people looking down on her so she could in turn look down on them. The tendency needs to be addressed as soon as possible?

He is not wrong. She is having difficulties controlling her temper. But she also knows that she is not wrong with what she knows about herself, she knows she is a good fighter and though things did not go perfectly a few hours ago, she never felt like the situation had turned on her. A knight is supposed to help the weak and protect them, solve problems when encountered and that is what they are trained for. And how to further the skills, sharpen the edge if not for using the skills? 

Thinking about her life, she had first noticed that it had a value. Beau knows how much value her life had for her father, how much value it had for the people around her at their estate. She felt the value drop as her brother was born. Now all that could determine her worth was herself. 

Fiercely, Beau clenches her jaw. She worked hard to get where she's now.

The first thing Beau had learned as a page had been that there was no free time. Free time was a concept of dreams and an illusion. All her teachers had made her do homework on top of homework, odd jobs, running around the castle until she was walking while sleeping. Long History lessons and thick books to read, serving at dinner, training in the morning and then still working on math and writing essays in the afternoon. Free time is an illusion and so is slacking. The skill to evaluate themselves, find their own faults and right them had been instilled in the pages and later throughout their squire days.

Beau knows that she is a good and capable fighter. And she also knows she is too quick, too hot headed. But it hurts after such a long time of not failing, of keeping herself in an iron grip, to fail.

Tilting her head slightly, Beau looks back at Maurice, who is cleaning his boots. His curly hair, elegant stature and willowy grace don't speak of those burly kights with mountains of muscles and hair up their neck. He's like a wolf. And that makes Beau think that they are alike. Staring for too long, he looks up at her before she quickly turns back around.

He's not a knight for nothing, he went through all the training as well and he made it to the end. 

Rubbing a hand over the bruise blooming on her sternum, Beau groans quietly. She needs to treat it sooner or later, unwrap the bandages and cool it. Hopefully they'll stop near some shrub for their evening camp. It's straining her to not have a room to herself, let her chest rest from the pressure or take the time she wants to wash and just feel right in her body again. It sucks that girls aren't allowed to be knights, whoever had that idea must have been a complete idiot.

Feeling calmer, Beau walks back to Molli, petting her snout before she pulls the sword stick from the saddle. Rather than letting her dark thoughts and sadness kill her energy she's going to fight the shadows and work up a good sweat. If things with the highwaymen went poorly, what better way to remedy it than to train? Training had always cleared her head. Rhythmically tapping the stick on the ground, Beau walks out onto the grass, making a half circle and then taking a stance. Her shoulder is a little sore from when she fell and the axe broke, but she grits her teeth.

Groaning, Beau swings the stick wide in a butterfly swing from left to right, balancing to make a step as the stick whistles through the air. When her foot meets ground the sword point dips down and shields the extended shin until the other foot has followed and her stance is back to shoulder wide.

Yes, she knows that pattern by heart.

The other squires, they had been equally determined. First they had all fought and flowed through the stances, moving feet, hands, arms and bodies. Sometimes Beau would jolt in her sleep, extending her arm snake quick. Then after weeks and later months the ones that adapted and incorporated the motions, no matter if it was with sword fighting, archery, wrestling or riding, those were the ones that bested the other squires. Beau had been one of them and she had relished in it, finally her turn to have the upper hand and be proud. No more headstrong child with stubborn pride but a young lady squire with talents, strength and finesse to her name that made her shine.

In Beau’s mind, knighthood is that wonderful moment in her life when she would step out into the world, being free and alight.

Her stick does another arch, now upwards and then Beau turns and lunges forward, slashing through imaginary highwaymen and other scoundrels.

Knights are supposed to impersonate justice, mercy, generosity, faith, nobility and be a beacon of hope to those looking up to them. Speak justice where it is needed, show mercy, have faith in the gods above and honor their doing, uphold their integrity and be walking examples of bravery, perfection. Chivalry. Tall orders for puny human beings.

Beau is no woman aspiring to life the dream of a perfect knight. She'd rather be the one to pull a person from their demise at the right moment in the right place, alleviate some of the wrong other assholes in the world leave behind. She wants to live free and walk unbridled as herself.

Bringing the stick down again, it hits wood and suddenly Maurice is there, holding his stick at ease. Beau breathes deeply through her nose. Calming herself and blinking two times.

"May I join you?"

His voice is calm and friendly. Instead of answering, Beau just resumes her stance and levels the sword stick's tip at the knight's chest.

Opening his movement with a stab to drive her back, Maurice side-steps and as Beau rounds on him, their sticks scitter along each other as they vibrate. In her mind's eye sparks are flying through the air as metal meets metal.

They tentatively smile, muscles locking up to hold up against the strenght of the blow.

"Right foot." Maurice says, pulling his leg back as it hooks underneath her extended shin. Beau falls on her back, blinking again. She had just thought about it only a minute ago. Unable to not laugh at herself, she hops back up again.

"Not a second time."

The knight smirks at her, charging at her.

They’ll get the mage to Camelot and along the way Beau will lay the foundation for her future. Set it in stone. Three quick swings in succession crisscross in front of her, cutting the air and enemies alike as she blocks quickly, looking for the gap between the strikes to slip through.

Things will be different. They will be better. Maurice is a good knight, a generous person and understanding as well as attentive. Still she can’t help but feel cautious with him, maybe it is fear of burning herself with trusting too much.

She’ll become a splendid lady knight and hopefully he'll be there to give her the shield in honor. With the same smile he's wearing now, proud as she outpaces him and lands a quick hit to his side.

"Not a second time."

She snorts and makes it her objective to do so.

They stab and slices through the air until their breaths come heavy and they built up a good sweat, arms hurting and shoulders tense while their hands vibrate from absorbing the energy from countless blocked hits.

Taking a stance, Beau slowly lowers the stick and holds it by her side. Maurice hesitates, then rights himself and does the same.

"That was good, Beau. Really well done."

The words hit her and with a shock Beau realizes that she's close to tears again.

"Yeah, I know." She tries to play it over with confidence, quickly walking back to her horse. She stops short of leaving Maurice's earshot.

"Thank you."

It's quiet and sounds far too vulnerable to her ears. Not waiting for an answer, Beau makes her way over to the camp. Nott has made a small stack of dark bread slices that she is now buttering up with fat from a small clay pot and sprinkling a mixture of salt and herbs on top of each one.

“Here.” She greets Beau with a toothy grin, holding a piece of bread out to her.

“Thanks.” Beau says gruffly, her voice rough from the almost crying and swallowing to prevent it. As she bites into her lunch, it reminds her of simpler times. At home when she had stolen food from the kitchen and hid in the garden.

Chewing deliberately slow, Beau lowers herself to the ground and let’s go of her stick sword.

“Feeling alright?” Nott asks quietly, buttering another slice. Maurice settles down on Nott's other side, keeping his distance, but Beau feels him glance over every once in a while.

“Yeah. I’m good.”

“Oh, well then it's quite alright.” The small maid says brightly, Ginger coming over to bump his head against her elbow.

“You know, I’ve not had a drop of whine for the last three weeks. How about as soon as we make it to Bedwyn, we'll have a good drink and spend a nice evening at the tavern, huh?”

Beau privately smiles into her hand and chews.

“That's something I like to hear." Maurice chimes in, folding the bread slice neatly in half and biting down.

"I'm quite curious about your tolerance.” Nott chuckles, fiddling with the knife in her hand, toying with an apple.

"Want to see a trick I learned a while back?"

Knight and squire hum inquisitively and Nott nods, grinning from ear to ear. She throws the apple out onto the grass, waiting for it to stop rolling. Carefully she lifts her hand over her head, fixing her eyes the apple laying a few meters away.

Then she throws the knife, it flies in an arc and then strikes the fruit, making it roll again with the impact's force. Both Beau and Maurice sit motionless, staring out at the apple as it topples one more time.

Maurice looks over and raises his eyebrows.

“Excuse me, Nott. I shall never make you cross. But allow me... Where in hell did a maid learn something that?”

Beau makes a point in being neutral, not showing the last traces of her inner struggles. Though she still feels raw looking at Maurice, she keeps herself calm and instead concentrates on working with Molli as they bring the last leg of their day's journey behind them. She directs the horse to sidestep and then do a short sprint, guiding her through different terrain of the uneven grassland, small rivulets and sticks that could be snakes in the horses vision. The mare is quick and light on her feet, dancing and prancing while she has some issues trusting Beau's judgement. Slowly but surely, the last of Beau’s heavy thoughts clear and let the blue of the skies above inside again. It starts small, with smiles as she is sure none of her travel companions is looking, then she snickers as Molli does a wonderful leap through the air. There are clouds above her and the darkness of the forest lays behind her. Fresh air, the tingle of warmth on her nose. It all makes her feel so much better and makes her forget the disturbing tightness she had felt in her chest for at least a little while.

As Maurice throws her a smile over their dinner, she feels the corner of her mouth twitch. They made their camp underneath a large oak that stands near four other tall trees, a tiny and windswept bench fastened to its large trunk. There is also an old fireplace and the remnants of firewood. It seems to Beau to be a spot shepherds would perch in as a look out over their grazing stock. All around them, it’s eerily empty and quiet, they are a beacon just off the road.

Ducking behind the oak's siblings, Beau sets the small vial and wad pad down on a root. Then she pulls the tunic over her head, unwrapping her bandages quickly to not risk either Nott or Maurice coming looking for her. The bruise has bloomed into the size of a fist, multiple smaller ones dotting her side and shoulder, probably some on her back too. Turning the bandages over, Beau sighs, giving her chest a few minutes to relax and be free in the slightly chilly night air. Just another couple of years. Nothing compared to the four years already spent in hiding. She'll get through it. Slender fingers close around the vial and let three drops of the arnica tincture fall on the wad pad, Maurice had told her the exact amount. Beau gently daps at the bruise, breathing in the medicinal smell and shivers as the liquid dries and leaves cold behind.

As she's done she quickly rewraps her chest again, ears peeled for any movement behind her or sounds of breathing. Undisturbed, Beau dresses and then slinks back to camp, handing the vial back to Maurice with a thankful nod.

Ginger dozes at her feet while she holds first watch, fiddling with a small stick to write into the dust. Equations and calculations flow from her mind as it idles, how much does a sheep cost in food, how much its wool is worth in winter as opposed to in summer. It’s stuff she'd learned to one day take over the estate of her father. It’s useless now that he has his long awaited son. Still, it calms her down. Someday Beau will have her own estate, and her own sheep if she so pleases.

Maurice sleeps quietly without snoring, Nott is still awake and looks through one of the mage's books.

“Can you read?” Beau asks, not looking over at the maid.

The flutter of pages stop. Then it’s back again and Nott grumbles.

“I wouldn’t know that this is any of your concern.”

“I know that the… town’s people often can’t read and most of the maids at home couldn't. I could teach you.”

“That would be nice.” Nott says, dangerously quiet. She closes the book and puts it back.

“But I’m tired now, good night Beau.”

“Good night, Nott.” She says, scribbling away.

By the time that she rouses Maurice to take over her place, Beau feels quiet and centred. Clapping his hand on her shoulder, Maurice smiles before sitting down to stoke the fire.

She slips into her bedroll, punching the lumps of her cushion into form before snuggling into it. Her hair still tied up in a top knot, Beau stares out into the darkness while the fire warms her back. Maurice rustles and she can hear the scratching of a quill on paper, the occasional sound of a page turning. It lulls her to sleep that she almost doesn’t hear the quiet steps of Ginger passing her, sniffing her nose briefly with a small sound. Then the cat stalks off, leaving her to the sleep that is crawling up on her. 

The scratching continues and Beau’s eyes start to fall closed again, her hand balled into her blankets.

Minutes or hours later, there is suddenly quiet and Beau gets startled out of her slumber. Maurice gasps, then sighs.

“What are you doing here?”

Muscles locking up, Beau furrows her eyebrows and blinks her eyes open. Behind her, the fire crackles and almost drowns out a quiet answer.

“Greetings, Mollymauk.”

_Mollymauk? Who is that?_

“What are you doing here?” Maurice asks the voice in a hushed whisper, he sounds calm and, if Beau had to hazard a guess, confused.

More quiet steps, then the voice speaks again, female and gentle.

“I saw the cat you travel with. It’s a fey. And I know who you are, Mollymauk. What are you doing with it and where are you heading?”

Maurice closes his book gently and Beau hears him stand.

“Aren't you a curious one. Follow me.”

Two sets of feet walk off towards the trees, Beau resists with all her might to not turn her head and keep her breathing level. She quickly closes her eyes as Maurice and the other person pass her, her face lax like she’s sleeping.

As the sound of steps grows quiet and then stop, she opens her eyes again and carefully turns her head to look in the direction Maurice left. There is nothing but darkness to see, but she wonders if there is a glimmer between the trees. The moon is just over its first quarter, hanging in the sky like a half-open eye. Straining her ears, Beau can’t catch more than murmurs, warped in the night air into soft whispers that travel through the leaves above her head.

What is happening? And where had that mysterious person suddenly come from? Had they followed them on the road? Lying awake, Beau waits for Maurice to return, her agitation keeping sleep at bay. Some minutes later, steps come back to camp, gently rummaging through one of the packs, walking away again. About three hours later, just at the end of Maurice’s shift, steps return and there is more rustling. Then the hurried scratching of the quill resumes and Maurice mumbles something quietly. Soon after, he gets up and wakes Nott, who blearily groans as she frees herself from her blankets.

Beau lays awake until sunrise, tense, while her thoughts race.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be posted on September 18 :)


	12. Sir Leonhardt and the Fey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... last we left off, Beau heard someone visit the camp at night...

Looking up from his book and to see the Willowgast standing in the midst of his sleeping companions, floods Molly with a torrent of panic and his hand tightens around the quill while he gasps. When the first shock subsides, he sighs.

Trying to seem unphased, he sighs but still puts his hand on the pommel of his sword.

“What are you doing here?”

The questions he holds back are: When did the you approach? Where have you come from? Why hadn’t I noticed you earlier?

Looking at him with big blue eyes, the copper-haired fey musters Molly from the top of his head down to his feet, hands nervously fiddling with the sleeve of a dark robe.

“Greetings, Mollymauk.” She whispers, the name flowing over her lips reverently, wonder swinging with it.

“What are you doing here?”

The fey tilts her head, sharp cheek bones catching the dim firelight and it reflects into her hair to light it up like the flames themselves. Her eyebrows are strong and so is her nose, but in no way do those features diminish her otherworldly appearance.

“I saw the cat you travel with. It’s a fey. And I know who you are, Mollymauk. What are you doing with it and where are you heading?”

Molly smiles while his eyes quickly dart towards Beau and Nott. He closes his book and stands up, making a point to be unhurried.

“Aren’t you a curious one.”

The Willowgast doesn’t do more than blink. She nods and waits for him to lead the way, over to the oak trees and out of earshot. Gesturing gallantly, Molly walks away from the fire, he feels his sword vibrate by his side as the fey follows him with quiet steps. It’s just as agitated as he feels and he turns around to see the Willowgast follow him closely, eyes scanning the sky with blue glowing eyes.

As soon as they are behind the trees, Molly turns and, by using his presence, walks the fey closer towards an oak.

“We left as promised ,with nothing askew, why are you here?”

Surprised, the fey looks at him, they are about the same size, which a small part of his brain registers pleasantly.

“I want to know what you are doing with a fey cat. Where are you taking it- “

Molly shushes her with a finger to his lips.

“That is nothing I can tell you.”

“But, I could help! I know many things and I’m good at finding things out.”

Nodding, Molly leans back, trying to evaluate the fey’s facial expression anew.

“So you are.” He answers, waiting for the Willowgast to go on about her intentions. She opens her mouth and then closes it again.

“I could help you with your quest.” She simply ends.

Setting a hand on his right hip, Molly moves his weight a little.

“Fey help for a price. Either you are a very curious one or you want something.” Molly states, squaring his shoulders. Might even be he is smaller than the fey he absently notices and files the information away.

“You have books, I’ve seen them. I like books. I would like to read more and that can be the price for my help.” The Willowgast says, squaring up as well and looking Molly dead on in the eyes.

“There aren’t many to come by and you carry a whole bag around with you. Please let me read them and there might be useful things?”

“Those books belonged to a mage, and they are very important. So if I let you stick your nose between the pages, you will not do anything funny with them?”

Those blue eyes grow bigger and the fey vigorously shakes her head.

“I never would. A mage you say?”

“Yes. Now he is a cat, the one you have already seen. Well then.” Mollymauk takes a deep breath.

“I’m in need of some help from someone who can read those things, understand magic better than me.” Molly says and gestures for the fey to sit down and wait.

“I tend to think that I know enough to do my job but these books are filled with Camelot mage equations and sigils that I have not learned.”

Nodding to herself, the Willowgast sits with her legs crossed.

“Wait here, I’ll get them.”

He quietly makes his way back into camp, looking at Beau who looks asleep and at Nott, whose breathing is slow and gentle. With quick hands, Molly pulls books from the bag, looking in particular for the one with that blasted knot he can’t open. The Willowgast looks at him eagerly as he comes closer again, holding out her hands.

“Ah!” Molly goes and sits down as well, hoarding the books close to his side and out of her reach.

“First, tell me a few things about you. I don’t intent to be impolite but you are a very interesting fey. Living in a willow, but then you leave your home because a bag of books rides by. You even risked your life last night.”

Shrugging her shoulders, Willowgast glances at the stack of books and then back at Molly.

“What can I say, we do have hobbies. It just so happens that mine is not dancing in the moonlight or stringing together daisy chains.”

“And what about braiding your willow’s branches? I know that most willow fey can spend years braiding and unbraiding.”

The willow fey chuckles, high eyes glowing with amusement.

“You really know about us. No, my sister does that and I would hate to stand in her way. Instead, I one day was told that humans have stories, of the lands around us and beyond the great water, and that some are rich enough to write them on expensive paper and carry them around with them. I once bartered a book for a young twig and-“

“And you didn’t understand a thing.” Molly grins broadly, grabbing a book and leaving through its pages. The fey huffs as her story has been unduly interrupted.

“Yes, that was the case.” Willowgast says distractedly as the pages fly through the air and the rustle fills the space between them.

“Until I found another fey that had lived in the walls of a castle before the stone it was tethered to was torn out of its bindings. It came wandering down the road with a travel group and they made camp under our tree. And it was the one that taught me how- can I please?”

Impatiently, she holds her hands out again, looking pleadingly. Pouting a little, Molly puts the book down again and sets his chin in his hands.

“I’ll give them to you, under one condition.”

The fey presses her lips together and takes a deep breath.

“Yes?”

“Tell me what you find.”

“E- Everything?”

“Well, anything regarding the last entries if they are handwritten, anything about fey and cats and fey cats, everything about experiments that he planned during the last two weeks, information about curses and hexes.” Molly counts on his fingers, then grabs a book and holds it out to the fey expectantly.

“I’ll try, but that’s a lot…” She says and then takes the book, reverently tracing her hand over the cover.

Molly looks at her as she reads the first page, then her eyes quickly look up at him again. He winks at the fey and then blinks down at his own book.

The book with the cord is warm in his hands, he turns it around and tries to open the knot again. He pulls on sections and fiddles with it, turning the book over and then tries to pry the covers apart to catch a glimpse inside but it’s like the pages are stuck together.

Coughing lightly, the fey closes the book she was reading and puts it aside.

“That one was about rivers in the kingdom, I think your mage was interested in the way the water takes from the mountains and where it travels.”

“So nothing interesting.” Molly sighs.

“What kinds of books do you prefer to read if not stuffy books like these?” He asks, setting the book he had been working on down and pulling another tome from the stack.

“Fairy tales. So, imaginary stories, really. About beings like me. I like the perspective that humans have on us, though they are often a little limited.” Willowgast says gently, her eyes scanning through the books laying in front of her.

“Let me see.” Molly mumbles and picks up one book after another to read their backs.

“Here, those would be the ones.” Molly holds three books over to the fey, then gets back to trying to open the knot.

“But before you get lost, I’d say we first work through the books that aren’t recounting fairy tales. I’m in particular looking for a research diary, doesn’t every mage have one?”

“I don’t know, how many mages have you met so far?” The fey asks back, flipping open another book.

“None, this would be my first if he wasn’t trapped in this feral form.”

“The cat form, right?”

“Yes.” Mollymauk says, leaning to glance around the tree. The fire is still burning and both his companions lay motionless in their sleep. But there is no Ginger to be seen and panic raises in Mollymauk’s chest. Godsdamnit, the last days had been so unproblematic he’d slacked on tying the cat down.

“Wait here, I have to look where he’s gone off to.” He rushes to say, jumping back up to his feet.

“Oh-“ The Willowgast starts but Molly is already on his feet and ready to go back to camp, looking around frantically for any tracks leading into the night. If he uses his sword, maybe-

A meow directs him to look up and there is the ginger cat, perched on a high branch of the oak. Shoulder’s slumping in relief, he gives Ginger a stink eye, pointing at the cat for the fey to see.

"There he is."

He sinks down into a cross-legged sitting position, next to the fey. His sword vibrates at his side as it had been the whole time, he chalks it up to the fey’s presence and the mage’s books must have also absorbed some energies that set the sword off.

“Everything’s alright.” He says as she looks up at him curiously.

They both continue to work in silence, the fey occasionally lifts her hand to touch her jaw, then lets it fall back to her lap again.

“What is that?” The fey asks, a few strands of her hair falling in her eyes as she intently looks at the book with the cord that Molly is once more fiddling with.

“I don’t know. But as soon as it’s open I’ll know. But the knot seems to be magical.”

“Oh.”

Molly shrugs and taps be pommel of his sword.

“I highly suspect it’s only opening to the mage’s touch. But I do have a way to make it spill its secrets to me.” He taps the cover almost menacingly, then suddenly extends the book towards the fey.

“Here. Maybe you have a go at it?”

Molly keeps his eyes fixed on the face of the Willowgast. She is a strange fellow but indeed a magical being, his sword hums faintly by his side to alert him to that.

The fey takes the tome in her hands and turns it over, almost eating it up with her eyes. But nothing happens, with the knot staying as it is, and Molly suppresses a sigh.

“It’s beautiful. If I were a mage, I would indeed write in this.” The Willowgast says, her youthful face luminescent in the moon light.

“Which only confirms that I need to have this book open. It is beautiful and it’s going to be a shame to cut the enchantment.” The knight grouses, admiring the craftsmanship of the leather.

“Your sword-“ The fey starts, her eyes darting down to the object in question. Molly grins as the Willowgast licks her lips.

“Is it what I think it is?”

“What do you think?” Molly asks in return, leaning slightly forward as for a short moment he forgets all about the dreadful knot keeping the book shut and its secrets hidden.

Putting the research tome down, the fey scoots closer, her long fingered and elegant hands steepled in her lap.

“I’ve heard stories of the Mollymauk, the way they shift between the Seelie, Unseelie and the human world with the blink of an eye. It is said that their sword is what makes it possible, hewn from the moonlight falling through the water’s surface by the Nymphs that live neither here nor there. Their waters connect the worlds as the rivers run and their lakes pool. Those are the paths that the sword uses to cut the magic fabric that divides, for a gate to open as long as there’s water. And then the Mollymauk can step through.”

Molly stays silent, looking the fey over with a guarded expression on his face.

“You are well-educated.” He cautions.

“May I see?” She asks, sentence ending with a higher cadence to pose a question.

Contemplating for a few moments, Molly closes his left hand around the sword’s hilt and pulls it from its sheath quietly. She’s one of those that he is meant to protect, he doesn’t need to hide from her. And at best it would keep her from gossiping if she knew he was the real deal.

The curved blade looks like fluid silver, edges shining bright white with the hilt wound in silver thread and with a massive silver handlebar that ends in silver orbs as well as on the hilt. No other colour than the various metallic shades of silver mar the swords appearance and it indeed looks like solidified moonlight.

The fey blinks and Molly’s hand tightens for the fraction of a second as he tilts the blade, catching his reflection’s crimson stare, then he relaxes again and puts it back. The Willowgast leans back, tilting her head in thanks.

“So… is it true? You can travel through water?” The fey asks, tilting her head.

The coppery hair falls to one side, revealing a pale neck. Keeping his eyes trained on the tip of the Willowgast’s nose, Molly puckers his lips and then shrugs.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

He receives a sour look from her, but doesn't take her up on it. Instead, he takes up another book from the stack, opening it to skim over the first page while he keeps on ignoring his swords vibrations. The fey makes a disgruntled sound and Molly smiles a little at that, the corners of his mouth twitch and then he focuses his eyes on another book. It starts with a preface of the author, an explanation of the methods they used to determine what conditions make specific plants dwell in certain places.

The silence between them goes on and the Willowgast goes back to reading as well. She gets easily caught up in the stories, Molly can tell by the way she leans forward, eyes rapidly flying over the lines and her face going through tiny motions. Molly forgets the passing of time while they sit together and as the fey suddenly sits up straighter, he jumps as well.

“I need to go.” The Willowgast mutters, setting the book down on the ground and rising with the sound of cracking bones that make Molly wince.

“Whoa, that sounded quite fierce.” The knight gasps and rises as well.

The fey just rubs her backside with a grimace.

“Don’t mind that… I- this was nice. Would you mind if I came back tomorrow?” The Willowgast asks, fingers digging into the meat of her lower back.

“Would I be able to stop you?” Molly asks with a smile, collecting the books from the ground.

“Only with salt and iron.” Is the answer.

“Alright, I see you cannot be deterred. But only tomorrow. After that we’ll reach the town of Bedwyn and I don’t think you’ll take kindly to that. There is too much iron and not enough magic to sustain you.”

As the fey nods, her hair falls in front of her face and Molly can’t see what expression might have crossed it.

“Good night then, Sir Leonhardt. I will see you tomorrow.”

Biting back the urge to tell her to call him Molly, the knight waves after the retreating figure. The fey gets swallowed up by the darkness of night and soon not another flash of her coppery hair and luminous eyes is visible.

“I have got to be mad.” Molly grumbles to himself, walking back to camp.

Everything is the way that he left it. He puts the books away and throws more logs onto the burnt down fire before pulling out his notebook and starting to write vigorously. He needs to keep his eyes open, not let anything go by unnoticed. As Molly details his nightly encounter, what he knows about the fey, the fire cracks and crackles languidly and sparks fly up into the sky. He writes three pages worth in a tiny and hurried script, so sharp in contrast to his normally controlled and even writing, that only he is going to be able to decipher it later. One time he’s startled from his concentration as there is some crackling coming from the trees and then Ginger slinks back into camp. Molly only spares him a quick look before going back to his writing.

Later, with a deep breath, Molly closes his book, puts it away and then goes to wake Nott for her shift. She gets up with heavy lidded eyes and wishes Molly a good night.

His head is filled with worried thoughts as he wiggles into his bedroll. His travels are something best unknown and he could kick himself for revealing his identity. But who could have known that this particular fey was headstrong enough to follow him?

Deciding that it was a problem he’ll be able to deal with if necessary Molly presses his face into the pillow and wills himself to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be postet on September 25th :)


	13. Sir Leonhardt reaches Bedwyn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the last night's unexpected visit, the group continues on it's way towards Bedwyn.

In the morning, Beau kicks earth over the cold ashes of their fire and seems deep in thought. Molly chooses to friendly clap him on the shoulder as he passes and decides that the squire’s pensive mood is probably a good sign. Being fond of giving and receiving space himself whenever he is feeling agitated, Molly swings his pack onto Bo and then saddles up for the last leg of their journey to Bedwyn. Nott blinks into the sunlight, rubbing her eyes.

“I’ll nap when we stop for lunch.” She announces fastening the leather buckles on her saddle and the bags of the mage.

The gelding sidesteps marginally and stretches his legs until the joint crunches.

“Morning shift was not kind to you?” Molly asks, stepping next to her to help her up on her saddle.

Ginger already waits for her to get situated, then he leaps up in one fluid motion. Molly is surprised as always that the gelding doesn’t mind the sudden appearance of the cat but instead continues to chew on his bit. Taking up a new place for himself, Ginger settles on top of the bags on the backside of the horse, looking out over the landscape that they leave behind. With each passing day, Molly just sees more indications that the cat is a fey creature. Or at least the curse binding the mage in this form must be based on fey magic. Which only makes it so much more difficult to find the evidence or solution for the problem. The cat’s blue eyes follow Molly as he walks back towards his own horse, Beau already sitting securely in his saddle.

Without much words being said, they set out onto the road again and leave their campsite behind. The sun is stinging after the cool weather of the last few days and Maurice debates with himself if he should discard his doublet and let the rays warm his bare chest. Feeling the muscles of his stomach ripple as his upper body works with the gentle rhythm of Bo’s steps, Molly presses his thighs firmer to the warm flanks and lets the reigns slip through his fingers. Nott next to him looks tired but determined. All in all, she’s in a much better condition than after her first few days of travel. It seemed that she had already developed the necessary butt for riding, even though it had been forced on her rather suddenly.

“What is Bedwyn like?” Nott’s voice disturbs Molly from his thoughts and the steady sway of his horse.

“You’ve never been?”

The maid snorts, leaning forward.

“I started my duty at the castle three years ago, there wasn’t much time to go away for two weeks, and before that I lived in a sweet little village by the seaside.”

“That must have been beautiful. Why did you leave?” Molly turns around to look at Nott, watching her face soften.

“We needed money, so I left.”

They look at each other, Molly nods and takes the reigns back in his hands.

“Bedwyn? It’s a charming small town, all the girls are beautiful and the boys are handsome. There are wise old men and women, white painted houses with straw roofs and smoke billowing from their chimneys. Delicious ale can be found in two taverns that are both with mouthwatering home cooking, one is called Greenstone Inn and the other one is The Red Donkey. But never let the respective host hear about the equal quality of their inns. They have a petty rivalry going on and even named their establishments with that in mind.”

“Establishment. You really have more French wiles than just your name, Maurice.” Nott grins up at him, soaking in the sun like Ginger.

“Ah. Well, a new age is beginning, the French are on our shore and in our land. We can’t always keep on using only good old words. There should be more to describe wonderful things. But I was talking about Bedwyn.” He clears his throat and sits up straighter, risking a glance back at Beau before he continues.

“Bedwyn town center is a marketplace, lively and filled with produce and stock on three days a week. It’s a lively town. I need to question one of the innkeepers about the mage. Lord Belvedere also left me with instructions about who might have seen or noticed something about him on his way to the castle.”

“And how long will we stay there?” Nott pipes up, adjusting in her seat with a small shuffle.

Beau also stirs his Molli closer to hear better what the other Molly is saying.

“We’ll arrive there before sundown and then stay the night, use the next day to stock up our supplies, look for a smithy and asks questions. Then we leave the next morning. Beau-“

Molly turns around and looks at his squire.

“I want you to be present while I question the innkeeper and then we’ll go through town to ask around if anybody has seen the mage and if so, if he has done anything interesting. This is the last place the came through before reaching the castle.”

“We never questioned the people at the castle, why is that?” Beau asks.

“You weren’t there when I talked with the Lord and his Master of Court. I managed to meet everyone who had talked or seen the mage on the first and second day and they told me that the mage arrived, demanded tea and supper before locking himself in the designated chambers. He didn’t even leave instructions for his gelding, how to take care of it or anything.”

Beau nods along as Molly goes on.

“I looked at the chambers, it seems to have been his room to sleep in as well. It was clean and the bed unused, the floors dusty apart from a small smudge of coal on the floor and lots of books unpacked on the table, but his clothes still were in his pack…”

“So he came to the castle, holed himself up and then suddenly he’s a cat.” Beau summarizes, rubbing a hand through his undercut.

Ginger yawns and stretches, then hops off the gelding to trot beside it. Molly nods and speaks up again.

“Most likely. So we’ll see if Bedwyn can supply us with any answers.” Molly goes on.

“Maybe he bought something, maybe somebody saw him talk to certain people and we can take it from there. I’d like to present Camelot with leads and some answers when we bring the mage there, because I highly doubt that we will find a solution to his predicament without the help of another mage.” What Molly doesn’t say is that maybe he’d be able to find a solution, but a knight normally does not break a curse such as that.

Fight an evil entity, free a person, put an object back into the place it belongs, yes. That’s what many knights before did. No one expects the Knight Leonhardt of the Emerald Lake to solve the problem.

“Will they be able to turn him back?” Nott wonders, looking down at the cat who walks gracefully with his tail swaying gently.

“We’re talking about the kingdom’s best mages, their teachers and pupil living together. I think they can find a solution. Might even be one of them knows what he was working on.” Molly elaborates, slowing Bo down as they come to a curve in the road.

“You know, even though I only saw him twice in passing, I think he is a nice person.” Nott says.

“The mage I mean.” She tags on. Beau taps a hand on his thigh, reclining in the saddle in a relaxed position.

“He locked himself in his room and I think that was to avoid people who think he is nice and want to talk to him.” The squire states. The maid looks at him with her eyes narrowed.

“Maybe, but Ginger likes me and it’s still the mage inside him. He is a nice person and a nice cat.”

“As long as he doesn’t run off.” Molly sighs and like he wants to prove something and understood every word that they said, Ginger turns around and takes aim to jump up onto Molly’s saddle.

Snorting and smiling down on the cat’s smug face, Molly extends his hand to bump him in the nose.

“But Nott is right, he is a nice cat. I’ll miss him.”

“Do you think they will hurt him? At Camelot?”

Nott’s voice is dangerously calm, Molly looks over to her while scratching Ginger under his chin.

“I- I can’t say. It might be painful to change him back.”

“Then I’ll stay, I’ll stay at Camelot to make sure he’s alright.” The maid says with conviction, ignoring Beau’s quiet groan.

They ride through grassland, coming across a stream that the travel group uses to freshen themselves up before riding into town. Whereas Molly simply discards his gear, shirt and boots to completely submerge himself, Beau sinks a bucket into the water and then scrubs the dirt of his face and arms, Nott doing much the same a little ways upstream.

“Why don’t I ever see you swim, Beau?” Molly asks, standing in the river water that reaches as high as his knees.

“Am I supposed to swim in this shallow thing?” The squire shoots back, plunging his rag into the bucket again and opening his top knot.

Shaking his hair out and leaning forward, Beau dumps the remains of the bucket on top of his head. He pats the ground until he finds the small soap bar and then rubs it between his hands to work up a good lather. With calm and slow movements, he washes his hair, holding the soap out to Molly as the knight wades closer and makes an inquisitive sound before taking it.

“Thank you. No, I just meant in general. At our last river I didn’t even see you wash yourself.”

“I washed in the morning.” Beau answers curtly.

“But you didn’t go for a swim?”

“No.”

“It was nice. One could think you can’t swim.” Molly goes on, squinting his eyes while he works his hands through the mountain of white foam on his head.

“Or that you don’t like being in the water.”

“Maybe I don’t.”

Molly laughs and then quickly crouches down to submerge himself in the water as much as possible. He comes back up and shakes his head vigorously to get the water out and wades back to the riverbank.

“Ah well, you do remind me of a cat sometimes. A grumpy one. Maybe one of these days I’ll get you to go swimming with me, it’s a veritable delight.”

Beau grumbles something Molly can’t really hear, then he throws him an irritated look and fills the bucket again. Then Beau tips it upside down over his head to rinse the soap out.

Looking up through his soaking wet hair hanging over his face, Beau blinks and Molly is very sure that the squire is holding back from saying something. And he wishes that it weren’t the case. And then he thinks that his squire looks like a wet and very grumpy cat and he snickers. Playing it off, the knight clears his throat and then walks past Beau, amicably pushing his head down with a hand in passing.

“Don’t take too long or I’ll eat your lunch.” Molly calls back over his shoulder.

Nott has already back from washing and is now sprawled out on the ground with an arm thrown over her face to shield her eyes from the sun. Her chest rises slowly while she sleeps, her other hand closed around a short dagger. Ginger has laid his head onto her hip and is also sleeping, small specks of blood on his nose. Taking up two of the bread slices she has buttered and salted with herbs before laying down, Molly sits down as well and wolfs them down. He is scribbling away in his book as Beau comes back to camp, his hair up in a tidy knot and dripping faintly.

“Oh wonder, there is still some lunch left.” Beau snarks, his eyes sparkling as he sits down next to Molly.

“What? Ah, my fault. Let me correct that.” Extending his hand quickly, Molly tries to snatch Beau’s bread, but he quickly folds and shoves it into his mouth.

Looking at his bulging cheeks and the way Beau tries to chew, Molly laughs freely.

“Now say Beau, were there any girls that you had in your sight back at the castle? I can see you have a week spot for the ladies.” His grin goes from one ear to the other as he sees Beau growing beet red and then the squire coughs and hacks.

With tears in his eyes he swallows the bread, then raises his hand to make a mildly rude gesture, coughing still. Molly guffaws and then lightly punches him on the shoulder.

“So I was right. You can tell me, Beau. I have my ways to woo a person of interest and I can teach you. Everyone should have their fun from time to time, and Bedwyn-”

“No thanks-“ Beau croaks, taking a big gulp of air and gently knocking against his chest. Molly looks at him doubtfully, then he leans forward.

“Maybe you’re more interested in how to make the dance of two bodies very enjoyable.”

Beau groans, Nott complains.

“Stop, Gods that’s so gross!”

“I’m trying to sleep!”

After their lunch break, Ginger continues to ride with Molly until the night break over them. They look for a spot to make their camp, Molly looking around with the nagging feeling in his stomach. Should the Widogast really show up tonight, they’d need a quiet and hidden place for reading. They ride a little longer into the night, coming by a small stone wall with shrubs. Behind those shrubs, they make camp, Beau sitting down for his usual first watch and Molly sits to either torment the squire with awkward questions or to strain his ears for steps coming towards them through the night. While they sit and wait, Beau’s head grows heavier and he nods off for a second, then again and Molly sighs with a smile.

“Go sleep, Beau. You’re no good on watch like that.”

Rubbing a hand over his eyes, the boy looks over to Molly.

“You’ll be okay? I-“

“Yes, I’ll be fine, make it up to me when we get to town tomorrow.”

Grumbling, Beau crawls over to his bedroll, somewhat covers himself with his blanket and is out cold in the blink of an eye.

Now, Molly is left alone, waiting for steps.

They come, he directs the fey to sit with him on the other side of the stone wall, letting her pour over books and scripts alike. In contrary to the night before, she’s quiet and concentrated. Molly guesses it’s because this is her last chance to read as much as possible, so he leaves her to her focus, going over to sit by the fire with the book held close by the damnable knot. He’s not even sure anymore he wants to open it, nasty things could happen if he tried. The mage could have made precautions to keep nosy people at bay. Tapping the book with a fingernail, Molly decides to just admire the craftmanship, waiting for the fey to finish her reading.

She comes to him well into Nott’s shift, only three more hours are left before the sunrise. The maid is still asleep, Molly staring into the flames with gritty eyes.

“I’m done.”

He jolts as the soft voice speaks next to him, panic rising in his chest.

“Good, good. I hope you got your fill.” With quick gestures, he ushers her off to the road, looking at her.

“So, this means goodbye, Willowgast. Maybe we’ll see each other again when I’m in this parts of the country.”

“It could only be hoped.” She smiles amicably and he’s not sure what to make of it.

“Will you be okay?”

“Of course, I’ve some acquaintances in the neighborhood around here. Don’t mind me, Mollymauk. I’ll take my leave now.”

The fey nods and turns around, walking straight off. Molly is left behind, shaking his head at what a strange fey she is. He’s not used to their type being so straight forward. But then he doesn’t hold himself awake much longer for nothing, instead he walks back to camp, wakes Nott, and slumps down to catch a few hours of sleep.

The city walls come into view. Although the knight knows about the Ginger’s calm behavior, there is also other people to account for. With a heavy heart and under the accusing stare of Ginger, Molly ties the leather leash once more around his neck.

“It’s more to protect you from the people than to keep you from running. Not that I wouldn’t trust you.” Molly explains, adjusting the fit.

“I know that you are a very smart cat, but somebody might think you wandered in from the Seelie or Unseelie. We can’t have them chase you around and maybe hurt you.”

Tugging on the leash and dragging a very grumpy Ginger back to Nott, Molly deposits the cat in her lap and fastens the leather to one of the many saddle straps.

“I’m really sorry.” Molly tells Ginger, feeling his eyes stare at his back as he walks to Bo. Beau snickers as he sits in his saddle, then they set out towards Bedwyn. The walls draw closer and the guards posted at the gate greet Molly and his companions.

“Sir Knight! State your name and your business!”

“My name is Sir Leonhardt of the Emerald Lake. I’m part of the knight errantry of the round table and ride through the land with my squire Beauregard Lionett while we escort this maid to her new destination.” Molly lies fluidly.

One of the guards closely studies the colors of his jerkin, then he nods and they are granted passage into town. The hooves of their horses clatter over the cobbled street, it’s broad enough to let two carts pass through side by side. The way is lined by houses, their windows decorated with flowers, the hides to cover them by night rolled up to let air in. Wood smoke and the smell of various meals wafts through the air. They pass children running and giggling, people walking about on their errands and chatting with each other. Guards patrol the broad main street.

As Molly glances down an alley, he sees lines running in between the houses with laundry hung up to dry. A butcher’s shop comes up to their right, a pen with ten pigs in front of it that squeal with delight in the morning sun. Following the street in a gentle arc towards the South, the Greenstone Inn comes into view. It’s walls area as the name says made of some greenish stone, the surface gleaming in the sunlight. The weathered wood of the door shining like silver and the windows some of the few ones made from glass. Guiding his group towards the building, Molly turns around to speak with Nott.

“We’ll go inside and buy a room for all of us, it’s cheaper and we will only be here for two nights. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” Nott says, fidgeting in her saddle.

“Will you pay for us?”

“Of course. Don’t fret dear Nott. Just keep an eye on Ginger, okay?”

The cat is indeed looking like he wants to jump off at any second, eyeing his surroundings intently.

“Will do. It’s probably best to lock him in the room.” Nott says, looking unhappy about it.

“Yes it will. We can’t risk him running away or anybody hurting him.”

They draw closer, as Molly hears the rhythmic sound of metal being hammered.

“You hear that Beau?” He asks over his shoulder, pointing in the general direction. The squire nods, squirming to catch a look at the smithy.

“We’ll go there today.” Molly announces, sidling up to the inn.

Jumping off Bo, Molly loosens Ginger’s leash from Nott’s saddle and then waits until Beau has bound his horse to one of the wooden poles out front. Giving the leash over to Nott, Molly turns around with a quick wave of his hand and marches inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be posted on October 2nd :)


	14. A Weapon for a Squire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains a brief POV change to Molly's perspective, but most is from Beau's viewpoint.  
> Enjoy :)

Maurice puts money down to rent them a room for three, making Beau’s stomach squirm for a second, then she reigns herself in and schools her face into a neutral expression. She’s the squire, the totally manly squire of this knight. There’s nothing strange about it. The inn keeper is not too keen on housing a cat but with an additional silver and the promise of Ginger not making any trouble, he stops glancing at the rust cat from the corner of his eyes. Almost to counter the stares, Maurice gathers the mage up into his arms and scratches him under his chin. Nott snorts and Beau can imagine what she’s thinking about, Maurice cradling a grown man in his arms.

Huffing, she drags their packs upstairs, Maurice walking in front of her with the key dangling from his fingertips and Ginger making biscuits on the meat of his shoulder. The room turns out to be a tight fit, between the wardrobe crowded behind the door, two beds and a desk under the window. Nott nudges Beau’s side, eyeing her with the question of sharing the bigger bed in her eyes. Her heart melts a little and Beau nods, seeing how Maurice puts his bags on the smaller bed though he had heard their silent conversation.

“Good, we leave Ginger here.” Maurice announces, loosening the leash from Ginger’s collar to minimize the danger of the cat getting into any uncomfortable situations.

“You stay here and be a good cat, do what cats do, yeah? Nap, gnaw on the bedding, crawl inside pillows, just live to your kitty heart’s content.” Both Nott and Beau can’t hold it in anymore and laugh behind their hands held in front of their mouths.

Tilting his head, Maurice looks at them, then he coughs.

“Or just do whatever you need to do, Ser Mage.”

Tapping Beau on the shoulder, Maurice leads them outside the room and closes it to lock the door.

“We’re going to visit that smith now. I want my squire to get use to a weight by his side at all times, even as you sleep.” Maurice says as they walk through the tavern proper, looking over to Nott.

“You want to join us? Maybe we can find something for you too? Travels can be dangerous and I’m not sure one dagger is gonna be enough.”

Nott’s eyes glow and she hurries to walk next to the knight.

“You really think? I’d like to have at least three… Uhm-“ Her cheeks grow ruddy for a second. Beau can imagine what’s going on in her head, the happiness of not being patronized for carrying weapons as a woman.

It’s also making her heart buoyant, the fear of one day exposing her secret to her knight lessening ever so slightly.

“Three? I’m thinking at least five.” Maurice laughs.

“Anybody trying to take you on would probably be scared to death when you jump him with two daggers in each hand and one in your mouth.”

Groaning, Nott throws her hood over her head.

“Just kidding, though it would be a fearsome picture.” Maurice concedes, grinning over his shoulder.

“Tell us, Beau, what would you think?”

“Pretty cool.”

“See?”

Nott glances back at Beau, a small smile in place.

“What kind of weapon do you want?” She asks the squire, although like they were talking about what kind of coloured ribbon to pair with their dresses.

Beau lives for it.

“Uh- dunno. Sword maybe?” Beau mumbles, looking at Maurice. His ever-present sword by his waist, glinting in the sunlight.

The knights eyes follow her glance, he shrugs.

“We’ll see what suits you. You’re good with hand to hand combat, so I was thinking maybe some armoured gloves? Brass knuckles? Maybe short swords to not impair your agile fighting style.”

Beau blinks, taking Maurice in with a new perspective. He got me figured out, she thinks, hand itching to curl against her chest with a sudden spark of agitation. Did he find out any more? Did he see anything else in her movements?

“Uhm- sounds about right.” She just says with a rough voice, following as her companions turn a corner, the plink plink of metal on metal growing louder.

Sound and smell are the things that Beau takes in before she can see the actual smithy, the smoke, the sour taste of burning oil and hot slack, flakes of ash drifting through the air as they walk towards it. It’s an open forge, wooden beams naked under the roof to let the air waft through, a huge hearth nestled into the back and the walls lined with either metal works, tools or memorabilia that the blacksmith seems to like a lot.

Among them is a flower crown, dried up from the immense heat inside where the air is stagnant. Frantic movement catches Beau’s attention, a burly young man working the bellows relentlessly with his biceps bulging. Next to him, the blacksmith himself is dipping a heated piece of metal into oil, the vicious hiss and cloud of steam rising up enveloping him briefly. He’s tall, but lanky, his frame dominated by muscles that are ran over with veins.

As the air clears again, sharp eyes find them approaching and the man says something to his apprentice, stepping forward to greet Maurice.

“Ser Knight, how may I be of service to you?”

“Greetings, how is the business going for you?”

Nodding, the blacksmith lays his current work piece down and hooks his thumbs into the bindings of his apron.

“It’s good, though a little dull with all the axes, hoes and plow blades.”

“I can imagine. Well, unfortunately we’re not staying long enough to have you make something for us.” Maurice says, carefully eyeing the display behind the blacksmith’s shoulder.

“I’d like to find something for my squire here, something light. He’s agile with his fighting style, but I want to get him used to a weight by his waist.”

The brown eyes look at Beau, she squares her shoulders and pushes her chin forward, hoping that her slender cheekbones are shadowed enough by her bangs.

“He’s slender. Makes sense he’s fast.” The blacksmith comments, tapping his fingers over his hipbones.

Then he nods and gestures for them to follow him inside.

“I’ve a few shortswords here, only need to be sharpened. Can adjust the weight if necessary. How long are you staying?”

“We depart the day after tomorrow.” The knight says, accepting a blade from the smith.

It’s straight, hilt slightly curved. The blade is thin and pointy, though Beau can see from afar that there are imperfections in the steel, possibly posing the risk of breaking the blade with enough impact force. Maurice’ eyes are also looking it over and hand it back to the man.

“This would be enough if I only wanted the weight, but I’d also like something that can be used in combat.” He says with no real malice, assuming that the blacksmith as a man of his trade also knows about the problems this blade has.

The next sword presented to Maurice is more sturdy but is lacking in elegance. Beau can already feel her arm muscles cramping for the next weeks of getting used to swinging that block of iron. She doesn’t look at the thing, instead searches for Nott. The maid has wandered over to the apprentice, letting him show her an assortment of daggers they have. It comes down to ta total of three, right now the boy is showing her a piece. Slowly, Beau sidles up next to them.

“You made it?” Nott asks, taking the dagger in hand to balance it.

“Yeah- was ma first.” The boy grins, looking awfully proud.

Glancing over the dagger, Beau has to say that is well-made, no elaborate swirls or anything. It looks downright deadly and serious, with a straight blade and dark wood handle. Nott likes it too, her grin becoming a little fearsome as pointy teeth peek out from behind her lips.

“It’s really nice, well done, boy.”

“Sam- Samuel, m’lady.”

“She’s right.” Beau chimes in.

“Say Sam, do you have any more- unusual weapons? I’m not really the type for- that.” She points over her shoulder where Maurice is holding another shortsword, though it looks more like a bastard sword.

Blushing a little, Sam rubs a hand through the stubble on the back of his head.

“Uhm- I don’t know- my master know a lot more than me.”

“Yeah, but he’s talking to my knight right now, and I’m asking you.” Beau grins, making a show of leaning in conspiratorially.

“Come on, Sam.”

Throwing another quick glance over to his master, Sam nods and steps up to a chest. It’s made of heavy wood and inside it’s laid in with fabric. He rummages through it and pulls two sticks out. Each one has a metal adorning one end, making them look like maces. Beau furrows her brow, then her face lights up as Sam puts the two pieces together and twists, suddenly holding a quarterstaff in his hands.

“That- a trader bartered this thing for the work my master had to put into repairing his carriage, said he got it from overseas. Dunno where and it’s just been gathering dust ‘round here anyway.”

Snatching the staff from Sam’s hands, Beau weighs it in her grip, a delighted grin spreading over her face.

“That’ll do. Can carry it on my hip, just fine. Right, Nott?”

Nodding eagerly, the maid agrees, pulling a second dagger from the pile and walking over to Maurice and the blacksmith.

“Good Sers.” She announces her arrival, holding the daggers out to them.

“I’d like to purchase these daggers. And your squire, Ser Knight, he’s found a suitable weapon, I think. If you would so much as spare a glance at it.”

Maurice eyebrows climb up his forehead as he turns around, Beau striking a pose with the staff clanking on the solid stomped earth. Nodding his thanks to the blacksmith, Maurice walks closer, taking the staff from Beau.

“That’s an unusual thing to find here.” He comments, looking closely at the metal on each end, then taking in the fine line bisecting the staff around the middle.

Beau is about to open her mouth to tell him it’s two pieces as Maurice twists his wrists and pulls it apart like he’s done it a hundred times.

“Good craftmanship, well balanced.” He says, rubbing over the wood.

“Hardwood, oiled. Very nice.”

His eyes are filled with praise as they meet Beau’s. The warm feeling from before grows and she hides it behind a sarcastic half-smile.

“Can also use them as maces.”

Sam is shrinking down a little as his master catches a glimpse of the quarterstaff.

“Ah- that thing’s been here for a while. Wouldn’t mind parting with it if it can fulfill your squire’s needs, Ser Knight.”

“It does. Your metalwork is very good, but I’m thinking this staff is more suitable for Beau. Is there a strap or holsters for that?”

They walk to an assortment of leather straps, Sam breathing out shakily.

“Everything alright?” Nott asks him, a small hand squeezing his forearm.

“Uh- well. He’s unhappy I showed it to you, it’s none of his works, but I guess he’ll get over it if I do some extra work today.” The apprentice says, smiling shyly.

Beau doesn’t say much, she’s benefiting far too much from this to be grand about it.

As they leave the smithy, her waist is adorned with a new belt, leather straps and two staff pieces dangling there, tapping against her hip and thigh with every step. Maurice was right, she needs to get used to a weight at her hip, fumbling with the belt more than once as it starts to drag her pants down.

But she’s very happy and almost walking on clouds, just about as much as Nott with her two new daggers slipped into the small loops inside her cloak, glinting dangerously as the wind sweeps it open to let the sun glint off the metal.

Spending the first night in the inn with having a very good dinner – roasted vegetables on dark bread with sausages – she and Nott start a game of dice. They gamble back and forth for two sausages while Beau keeps a close eye on the maid’s nimble fingers. Candles lighten up the dark inn, reflecting in the honey-coloured surface of the acer wood tables. The ale is just as brightly coloured, tasting strangely of earth and copper. With a flick of her wrist, Nott sends the dice tumbling over the wood, it lands on a one next to his partner that depicts a two.

“I win.” She grins up at Maurice, her hood thrown back.

The stringy dark hair paired with the crooked teeth and stubbed nose could have put other people off less used to her features. The light is not kind to her rough skin, but Maurice doesn’t pay any mind to that, instead he grumbles and give her the second sausage. Beau leans back in her seat, crossing her arms as her eyebrows travel higher up on her forehead. Then she turns around to address her knight.

“Shouldn’t we start with questioning the innkeeper?” She stabs a thumb over to the bar.

Following the gesture with his eyes, Maurice takes the man in. He is bent over four tankards, pouring them from the casket behind the bar. Looking slightly to the left, there is a heap of dirty tankards waiting to be washed.

“Let’s not add to his chores for the night. We’ll talk with him over breakfast.” Maurice decides, draining his tankard.

Excusing himself for a few hours, Maurice makes sure that Beau has enough money to buy herself another two drinks, not very concerned about whether the squire should decide to indulge herself with some ale or drink another pint of milk. Just as he leaves the table, he can hear Nott being approached by a merchant, asking about a quick game of dice.

-

Sitting upstairs at the table, with Ginger snoring behind him on top of the wardrobe, Mollymauk writes down the day, the thoughts he’d had and what he plans to do tomorrow.

Waking up an amnesiac without knowing where he came from, who he is and what he is supposed to do, Molly won’t forget the sky as he first opened his eyes, wondering why it was so much brighter than his surroundings. Then there is darkness as he had walked and walked, before stumbling over stones. Stones set deep into the earth like they had grown roots and the moss growing on them pulsing against his palm as he lifted himself up again. A spark and a light, then there was more light, and Molly had feared, had recoiled from it. Arms that picked him up and it had been no use flailing or struggling. Then he had forgotten about it, only knowing now due to his savior telling him about it. About the things he had mumbled, the things he had screamed.

They had had the idea of providing him with a book and a quill, forcing him for the first weeks they took care of him to write in it every day, training his writing and his vocabulary, his reading skills. It had only added to the splitting headaches that had plagued him since his first night. But the habit had ingrained itself in him and he continued to do so, finding it very much useful should he ever have another gap in his memory, or to write down things other people knew about him from before.

And by now, it was quite hard to shake it. After filling five books that way, he had taken to hide them away safely, now working on the sixth one.

He keeps writing and Ginger keeps snoring, then Molly straightens his back out with a few crunches and closes the book. Slipping it underneath his belt, he leaves the room, locks it again and then walks down to the tavern proper.

-

Beau looks up as her knight comes back to the table, noticing that she’s chosen to drink ale , but it is her first and she thinks she’s holding up just fine. Nott on the other hand is tilting to the side a little bit, clutching a small pouch in her hands.

“What’s that?” Maurice asks as he lets himself fall in his former chair.

“The merchant lost.” Nott giggles, shaking the pouch vigorously to have the coins inside jingle madly.

“It was very impressive.” Beau adds, slowly rolling one of the dice between her fingers.

She gets up and leaves for the bar, glancing at Nott from the corner of her eyes. The maid is rolling the dice in her hand. Taking the chance, Beau leans over the bar to talk to the inn keeper.

“Got any gaming dice?”

He huffs, nodding. Sliding first the tankard over to her, he then pulls a pouch from underneath the bar and gives two dice to her. Beau grasps them tightly, returning with an ale for Maurice. The knight is pleasantly surprised and claps Beau on the shoulder.

“Thanks, lad. Any chance one of you is up for another game of dice?”

“Whatcha bettin’?” Nott slurs, pulling on the cord holding the pouch closed.

She lets is slip in between her thumb and index finger, grinning.

“Oh, well I was more thinking of just having a game for the fun of it-“

“Five gold.” Beau pipes up, placing coins on the table.

She slides them over, the new dices in the palm of her hand. As Beau pulls her hand back, the inn keeper’s dices leave her hand and Nott’s are being deposited in Beau’s pockets. Nott’s eyes greedily look down on the coins, counting them and then taking up the dices.

With her eyes alight, Nott grabs them, shakes her loose fist and then rolls. Looking at the back and forth, Maurice leans into the table, while Beau hopes she thought right and won’t lose the little coin she has on her person. But it proves her right, as the dice don’t roll blatantly in Nott’s favour like before.

Over the course of twelve rounds, Beau continues to have just a scant bit of more luck than Nott with the dices and in the end she even wins. Never before, has the squire ever seen such a sour look on anybody’s face than the one that Nott displays right now as she hands over the five gold. Jumping up to get herself another ale, the small woman stumbles away, and Maurice takes the chance to lean over to his squire.

“She seems oddly… disappointed with the outcome.”

“Her dice were marked, that’s why she won. I just asked the innkeeper for another pair of dice. And she was too drunk to really notice.” The squire answers, a smug look on her face.

“So, she was cheating.” Maurice simply sums up and Beau nods.

“I don’t like people that lie and cheat. It’s dishonourable.” She says, taking out the marked dices and rolling them between her fingers.

Without blinking, Maurice just looks at his squire and then asks.

“How do you know if Nott’s funds are big enough to sustain her travels? If a pompous merchant is ready enough to lose five gold, it won’t hurt him much but help her lots.”

Beau furrows her brows, a small spike of discomfort settling in her stomach.

“I- well. Maybe.”

Taking the inn keeper’s dices back, she settles Nott’s dice back on the table, Maurice smiling a little before it vanishes behind his tankard.

Nott continues drinking and both Beau and Maurice can’t stop themselves from admiring her for how very smashed she talks and acts, but when she gets up, there is no sway in her steps. Beau takes it upon herself to accompany the maid upstairs and they settle down to bunk together while Maurice takes the other. To the sound of light snoring from Ginger, they drifts off to sleep with Beau’s arms wound tight around her chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be posted on October 9th :)


	15. The Effort of one Evening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caleb is planning things~

~First Day in Bedwyn~

Locked into the inn’s room, Caleb sits where Frumpkin had elected to laze around. The packs and belongings of Nott, Molly and Beau are neatly piled into a corner of the room. There are two beds and a wardrobe. He looks at his packs, filled to the brim with his books and supplies, and how could he not start to contemplate his departure with all resources at his grasp. He has slipped the leather collar off his neck and wound it into a tight coil next to him. The sun outside is now touching the horizon, it’s wonderful to see her again after weeks of only night sky and moon.

Caleb tries not to sit too long and stare while the warmth trickles over his cheeks.

They are in an inn. To be more precise the Greenstone Inn. He recognizes the narrow floorboards and the etchings around the door.

 _They are looking for people I met or talked to_ , Caleb thinks. He winds his fingers around each other, long and pale with some freckles, them being some of the few skin that got to see the sun during his time at the court of Camelot. A mage’s apprentice always wore their high collared robes and spends their time in the dark chambers over books by Dancing Lights.

Caleb’s healthy bronzed skin from before had diminished to a ghostly pale by the second year and he had felt like a flower in an eternity of fog.

Taking a deep breath, Caleb walks over to drag his pack towards him and pulls his most simple tunic and brown trousers out alongside his old and trusted boots. The dirt under his fingernails should make him look like a farmhand, he’ll probably go down into the stables to further dirty himself. And then…

Contemplating going through Molly’s pack, Caleb slowly extends his fingers and spreads them through the air. A tingle and fizzle travels form his fingertips to his wrist, where it sits as a hot pressure. Multiple objects inside the pack ping Caleb that they are magical, possibly enchanted against theft, so he rather turns his attentions to the saddle bags. Opening and looking through the contents, Caleb finds a small satchel of gold coins, sewn into the lining. He empties it out, counting fifteen gold coins. It’s a very good amount for him to sponsor himself enough provisions for the week until the Full Moon and the magic supplies that he will need for his plans.

Taking the leash and binding it around a cushion, he fluffs it up and lays it on top so the tall wardrobe. Weaving a net of energy around it, the illusion of Frumpkin appears, blinking tiredly and then starting to sleep. Caleb looks at him for a second, then turns around to open the window. The small ledge leads out over an alley between the inn and the neighboring house.

The ground is covered with straw and mud, two mice huddling along. Sliding out and lowering himself rather inelegantly, Caleb hangs by the window’s ledge above the ground, his shoulders and elbows cracking. He lets go and falls to the ground like a stone, landing on his back while the air escapes his lungs. Groaning, he rolls to his side and gets up again, straw and mud caught in his hair and on his clothes. Perfect.

Shrinking down into himself, Caleb walks out onto the street, keeping his head down and walking quickly. He knows where the stables are and walks past them to throw a glance inside. His gelding his there, shaking his head gently. Circling around the back, Caleb makes his way out again and heads towards the market square, pressing himself against house walls and in between the crowded spaces to become invisible as just another dirty stable hand. The sun has vanishes above the houses and the people start to pack up and hurry home.

“Excuse me.” He quickly speaks up before a young girl can stow away her goods.

“Yes?”

“Could I still buy one of these waxed linen sacks, please?” Caleb asks, pointing towards one of them.

It’s big enough to hold all his belongings.

“Well, of course. Uhm, that would be two silver, please. You are lucky, I was just about to hurry home. You know, my father is not as healthy anymore and I need to look after him.” She says with a tiny smile, quickly folding the sack in question up and holding her hand out to Caleb.

He reaches inside his pocket and tries not to disturb the coins as he pulls one out.

Taking the gold, the girl turns around to give him the change, Caleb quickly gazes over the square. None of the people he has met last time are here, but he needs to be quick. His hair may be muddied but if somebody looked to close, it’s auburn and copper quality is very apparent.

“Here you go, eight silver.”

Fighting with himself, Caleb takes four of the offered coins and then closes her hand around the rest.

“Keep them, for your father.” He says, ignoring the churning in his stomach to take the coins for himself.

“Oh! Thank you!” She beams, Caleb nods.

With the sack slung over his shoulder, Caleb makes some energetic steps to dive back into the crowd and wind his way between the people. His next destination comes into view, a tiny house with bundles of herbs hanging next to the door. He glances inside and sees that the woman is in a deep conversation with another woman, who is holding a covered basket in the crook of her elbow.

“And if it won’t get better, add poppy stems to the tincture.”

“How much?”

“Stir fingernail big bits in until the colour resembles milk, then add water until you can just see the bottom of the pot.” The older woman says, binding bundles while she talks.

She sets two more to the side, then looks up to the door and sees Caleb lingering there.

“Now go, your John needs the medicine.”

They say their goodbyes and Caleb turns his face away as the other woman exits the hut. Tapping his fingers on his upper arm, Caleb counts the seconds down and waits for thirty before he steps into the house.

“Welcome back, Ser Mage.” The older woman greets him cheerfully, setting another bundle of dried herbs to the side.

Caleb jumps and lifts his hands to stop her from speaking.

“By the gods, be quiet.”

“Of course. Do you need more supplies? Coal and incense, was it?”

“Yes, I need more of it but-“ He fights with himself.

“I’m not to be known, please. If anybody comes asking, you have never seen me and I never bought anything.”

Her eyebrows lift in wonder, then she just turns around to pull small packages from the shelf behind her. She stacks them on the table.

“Then it’ll be seven gold.”

“But last time-“

“I have a surprisingly good memory for my age. It’s not easy to forget for me, Ser Mage.”

Staring at her, Caleb balls his fist. Magic prickles underneath his skin. A loud sound from outside, a male voice, shakes him out of his concentration. Quickly, he pulls the coins from his pocket and then goes to grab the packages. A wrinkly, but strong hand closes around his wrist.

“Now, what should I forget exactly?”

Pulling his wrist from her grip, Caleb steps back, opens his sack and lets the packages fall inside.

“A knight has come to this town, looking for me. Tell him everything that you know from my first visit but nothing about this one from today. I was not here today. I did not buy anything today. Please.”

The woman nods.

“I will not tell them. But be safe, Ser Mage. If a knight is looking for you that can’t be good.”

“You- you are right. I- need provisions.”

“Look for a small house by the edge of town, it has a red painted bench in front of it. Tell the young boy there that Maggie sends you. That will cost you another gold.”

Caleb furrows his brow.

“Those are very steep prices. I wonder how you would like to be turned into a toad.” He tries to put as much of a grandiose tone into his voice.

Maggie blinks, then draws a deep breath.

“Ser Mage, if the knight looking for you should find me lying to him I’d rather now become a toad than be met with his ire. Do it now, I kissed my husband goodbye this morning and told my girl to walk with a smile.” She looks at him and waits, the air in her house filled with herbal and floral fragrances.

Caleb feels the shame prickle down over his back, this woman is willing to risk her existence for him and he thanks her with threats. Even though he could not picture Mollymauk doing anything to her, he can’t be sure about the knight. Hasn’t had enough time to really get to know him. And sometimes, even years of knowing someone doesn’t prepare you for the one moment they snap.

“I- alright. Here’s the gold. Thank you, for helping me.”

Maggie takes the coin and pockets it.

“I like you and that’s why I help you. Doesn’t mean I don’t want my loved ones to be cared for.”

“Understandable.” Caleb says quietly.

Eying the herbs for a second, he decides against buying the necessary supplies. He might be able to find them on his travels. Throwing the sack over his shoulder he slips outside again and turns the way that Maggie had indicated him to go. Walking through the dimming streets, he watches the townsfolk light torches to make for safe passage through the night. As he walks closer to the edge of town, the houses become older and more patched up but not less loved. The holes in the walls are closed with crude mortar, flowers painted on the corners and the crooked fences overgrown with winding plants.

The red bench is shining like a beacon from thirty feet away and draws Caleb towards it. Upon the third knock, a young boy looms from the window next to the door and Caleb barely notices him from the corner of his eye, just turns his head to curiously look around before finding eyes staring at him.

“Uhm- hello. Maggie sends me for provisions.”

“Have you paid her?”

Caleb nods, holding up a finger.

“One gold.”

“Gods, you must be desperate.” The boy mutters and vanishes.

From inside come noises of rustling and rummaging but the door stays firmly closed. Taking the time to calm himself and look at his surroundings, Caleb takes in the overgrown garden with daisies and roses, ivy strangling some small apple trees.

“Here.”

A package rests on the windowsill, if going by the size it contains about five days’ worth of provision.

Taking it into his hands, Caleb lets it slide inside his pack, next to the incense and coal.

The steps leave and Caleb is left alone with the sky darkening above him. Peering up, he sees the moon peek over the roof of the house. Working with the last light, he kneels down in the overgrown garden and grabs yarrow, ribwort, marigold and he even finds a few stems hollyhock and arnica together with some chamomile. Wishfully, Caleb debates asking the boy for honey. Then he shakes his head and leaves the garden, his steps leading him through the shadows along the houses back to the bustling streets.

He spends another silver on an evening meal at the Red Donkey Inn, reciving weird glances from the barmaid for his attire. Then he returns to the Greenstone Inn. Hopefully his illusionary cat has not been seen through. Slipping in from the back, he walks into the stables and over to his horse. Basil is munching happily on the hay the inn provided for him.

“Hallo my boy.” Caleb whispers, laying his hand on Basil’s backside.

His ears twitch and the gelding inquisitively turns his head to nuzzle into Caleb’s ginger hair.

“Ja, it has been some time.” The man chuckles, stroking over Basil’s fur.

He lowers the sack into a corner of the stable box. Covering it with straw and he flattens it to the ground as much as possible without damaging what’s inside.

“Have an eye on that for me, ja? I’ll be back tomorrow night and we’ll leave.” Another pat to the horse’s side and Caleb is sneaking back into the alley, going until he’s underneath the window he exited from.

Looking from side to side, Caleb pushes energy through his hands and buffets the air under his feet into more density. Slowly lifting upwards, he nears the window, looking insides. A candle is burning and Mollymauk is sitting at the table. He is writing in a book, his brow furrowed deep in thought. At first, Caleb is a little unhappy, his way back in blocked. His eyes find his Frumpkin illusion, still laying where he had left it. Then they get distracted by the movement of Mollymauk’s feather, moving slowly and carefully over the pages. What is he writing?

For a short moment, Caleb contemplates just assuming his disguise as Willowgast, but then he remembers that he had promised Mollymauk to not follow him into the city. And fey took promises very seriously. If he were to deviate from it, the knight might feel prompted to act in an unfavorable way. Sinking down to into the alley again, Caleb sighs and walks into the stables, narrowly escaping the attention of a stable hand. Slipping through between the boxes, he reaches Basil and sits down by his hooves, massaging his fetlocks.

The stables are warm, smell warm and the sounds of the horses chewing, huffing and overall moving is soothing and wonderful. Dim torch light paints the wood a warm colour while Caleb feels himself really relax after a long time of being on edge. He's wearing real clothes, doesn't freeze, there is no taste of blood on his tongue and he's safe for the moment. It's unbelievably wonderful.

Over an hour later, Caleb manages to creep inside the room again, opening the lock on the window with a quick flick of his index finger. Mollymauk is not in the room anymore, the maid and squire are also still missing. He renews the illusion and opens the pack with his belongings. He pulls off his clothes and shoves them in. Taking a little viola from his pack, he rips a small ball of gum from a bigger mass.

Caleb slips underneath one of the beds, squirming on the hardwood floor until he is somewhat comfortable. Taking in a deep breath, he plucks an eyelash and rubs it into the gum, then gets ready for the nausea before casting the invisibility spell. He doesn't like it much, but at least he is safe for the rest of the night. He doesn’t want to imagine what would happen if he were to be found in his human form. Illusion Frumpkin just snores while human Caleb lays underneath the bed.

Sleep eludes him and his ears pick up on movement before the door opens and the squire shuffles in, the maid in tow. The knight is the last to come in, closing the door quietly. The bed above him creaks and he shortly worries that it might bend down onto him, but nothing like that happens. The travel companions go to sleep, Caleb waiting for the change to take place again while he lays awake.

Spending the next day napping in the room, Frumpkin doesn’t notice much of the time passing. Only once he feels the need to relieve himself, sniffing around the room for a suitable spot. Next to a small heap of cat food, he find a small pot with wood curls. Throwing half of them through the room, he finishes his business and then lays down in a sunny spot on a bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be posted on October 16th :)


	16. Sir Leonhardt and the Thief in the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting from this chapter, updates will be on Mondays from now on :)
> 
> Next week there will be no new chapter!
> 
> Nevertheless, enjoy!

The morning greets him with loud cock crowing and the shouts of townspeople down in the streets and alleys. Though he is awake, Molly continues to just lay there, Beau is the first one to rise and leave the room, grumbling about Nott kicking her legs into his stomach while she had dreamed. Rolling over to his other side, Molly fights with going back to sleep, thinking of all the things he should accomplish today. He decides that it would be better to have the day start slow but active than rush out of the tavern by midday and try to get everything done at once.

The knight quickly washes and tidies himself up, then leaves the room with a snoring Nott inside. Beau sits at the bar, looking over at the innkeeper, who looks surprisingly chipper for what could not have been more than four hours of sleep. He’s probably used to it, is what Molly reckons and slides into a seat next to his squire.

“A breakfast with ale, please.” He orders as he knocks on the wood of the bar. Then he yawns widely and rubs his eyes.

“Wish I could sleep in a bed every day, you know? But after the fourth night, my back starts to hurt so much, like it’s being bent in the wrong direction.”

Beau looks over at him, partaking in his rambling.

“Back pain?”

“Yes, and after that fourth night, I can’t help myself but saddle up Bo and ride out onto the roads again. To sleep the next night under the sky. Seems I’ve been doing this for long enough to be uncomfortable in beds.”

“Happens to the best, some farmer can't sleep in a bed unless it pokes him with straw and two mice run around his feet.” The innkeeper comments laughingly, putting a plate filled with eggs, bread and beans down in front of Molly.

The knight smiles and takes up the fork that came with it.

“What about you? Do you like your job?” He asks the older man.

He has greying hair that curls around his ears, a trim beard of a much darker color and he is muscular but all in all more slim than broad.

“It’s nice. Have a lot of people laughing in here, good food and good ale to drink. Then there is dance and music. Each evening is just filled with a lot of commotion and cheer, it’s lovely.” The innkeeper brags, throwing a towel to lay over his shoulder with a practiced move.

“You get a lot of people huh? Must be hard to remember them all, I’d get confused with half the people that I’d rent rooms to or serve with ale after just the first night.”

Stabbing a large piece of egg, Molly hums contemplatively.

“Ain’t so hard if ya go by what defines them on the first glance. See a guy with a real foul mood, that’s what’s gonna set him apart from the rest. A girl with long blonde hair, done. Names, that’s something different, but most people don’t even give a name. They just pay, sleep and then leave.” The innkeeper brags.

“So you might also remember a man with ginger to auburn hair with blue eyes? He would have come through here about three to four weeks ago.” Molly asks, setting the fork down to give the innkeeper his undivided attention.

The man taps his middle finger on the wood and thinks for a moment.

“Yeah, there was one. He had expensive robes on and he was somebody important. But the way he carried himself? He probably would’ve rather hidden in the back corner and not ever be seen by anybody. He just stayed here for one night.”

“Did he come in and then just go up to his room until the next morning?” Beau pipes up, pulling Molly’s plate a little closer to himself.

“No, he paid and then he went out. Came back an hour or two later. Then he vanished until the next morning, got up early and rode off without having breakfast. I remember that because I pitied him. He looked haunted, was a scrawny fella, should’ve at least eaten some meat.” Chewing his lower lip, Mollymauk thinks for a moment.

“Alright. You wouldn’t happen to maybe know his name?”

“Actually- I think he did give his name. Was a nice change for once, but…” Scratching the thin hair on top of his head, the innkeeper scrunches his eyes up as he thinks hard.

“But I don’t remember, I’m sorry.” He shrugs.

“It’s fine. Thank you.” Molly just says, dismisses him and takes the fork back up.

Ambling over to sort through a pile of wooden tablets, the man nods. Twirling the fork between his nimble fingers, Molly stares at the wall behind the bar, contemplating before saying his thoughts out loud.

“I was right, we’ll spend the day asking around town if anybody else has seen our mage. But we still don’t know his name...” He stabs down and hits the plate.

With a quick glance, Molly finds his plate half empty. His eyes wander over to Beau, who quickly swallows a piece of bacon while one hand is pushed deep into one of his pockets.

They divide the marketplace into equal parts for questioning people. Molly goes to the left and Beau to the right, Molly being his charming and knightly self as much as he can be with a little headache still pounding behind his eyes. Most people had seen the mage, thinking him to be from the western island or some sort. What most remembered was his way of trying to duck away from attention, but with the crimson robes and sparkling jewels he had worn it had been the opposite of what he had wanted. Unfortunately, none of them seem to have done any business with him, only one older woman remembers that he had walked further down the street and rounded a corner, affronting her by not even paying attention to her superb wares.

Ducking away from her stand, Molly holds a wooden hair needle in his hand, pretending it to be a present for his beloved. He's just about to whistle for Beau to join him, as his squire already comes jogging over to him.

“Any luck?”

“No, he never bought anything here, never talked with anyone.” Beau reports, rubbing his hands over his sides.

“The question of course is, if each of the people selling wares here are here every market day... A woman had seen him go that way and then around the corner.” Molly says and points in the direction he had been given.

Nodding, Beau starts walking. They both turn the corner and find the streets much less crowded, no shops set up in the streets but rather inside the buildings. One is a cobbler, another is selling herbs, another specializes in cured goods.

“Should be split?” Beau asks but Molly just shakes his head.

“Let’s start from the right and work our way to the left.”

The cobbler has not seen the mage, but the herb lady has. And she even did business with him. Molly feels his heartbeat speed up as their first lead to understanding what has happened presents itself to him.

“Yes, this mage you are asking about was here. He bought some things.”

“What things exactly? Please be specific.”

The sharp eyes of the woman scan over Molly’s face. He might imagine it, but he thinks he sees the corner of her mouth twitch in a tiny smile, but it’s gone too fast to be sure.

“Coal. And incense. Some dried herbs for tea, peppermint and lavender.”

“And that’s all?” Beau inquires, shifting his weight from one foot to the other with nervous energy.

“Yes. That’s all.” The woman answers, then pulls a crate from underneath the table and starts to bind small bundles off dried up asters together. Beau looks over at Molly, who can see the squire is agitated and clearly of the opinion that the woman is not saying all that there is to be told. The knight shakes his head quickly, smiling again as the woman lifts her eyes to look at them inquisitively.

“Thank you, madam. Have a nice day.”

Beau and Molly step back out onto the street and Molly leads the squire a few feet away from the shop.

“She’s leaving something out.” Beau whispers.

Molly nods silently.

“I’ll come back later and ask her again, more specifically. She’s probably going to think that she is off the hook now, but that will only make her reaction more telling when I confront her later.” He concludes.

“Should I come with you?” Beau asks, falling into step with Molly as the knight turns and walks back towards the marketplace.

“No, it’s fine. Just make sure Nott doesn’t drink as much this evening, we’ll be riding out by early morning light.”

They settle down to have a quick drink, Nott sitting already at a table with what looks to be a mug of water.

Leaving Beau behind to look after Nott, Molly slips out of the tavern two hours before sundown, briskly walking through the bustling streets to reach his destination. Candlelight is flickering inside the old woman’s shop. As he enters, he raps his knuckles against the door frame, causing her to jump and look up. Like he had predicted, her eyes widen for a fraction of a second and her lips open like she wants to say something in disbelief, then she schools her expression back into neutrality.

“Good evening, Ser Knight. What brings you back here?”

“I couldn’t shake the feeling that I might not have asked you the right questions this morning.” Molly starts, walking closer to the table and inspecting the now finished bundles of aster and thyme. Turning back to face her, he smiles his most charming smile.

“So, please bear with me a second time. It’s just very important that I know the full truth and not leave any stone unturned in regards to what this mage has done in the past weeks.”

Keeping quiet, the woman looks at him. Her hands rest at ease on top of the worktable and her eyes calmly alternate between his.

“Then ask, Ser Knight. It’s becoming late and I would like to return home to where my husband is waiting for me.”

“Oh, of course. So the mage bought coal, incense, lavender and peppermint when he was here, right? The coal and incense seem a little off to me, why do you have such things and why would he need them in your opinion?” Molly inquires very direclty, settling down on the edge of the table with his arms crossed loosely atop his knee as he leans forward. The old woman tilts her head, looking at him like he just revealed not knowing some very basic things.

“Incense for those who want to pray and coal is a good medium for eye-shadow or to write. These are the purposes I sell them for. What the mage is doing with it, I wouldn’t know.” The woman answers cocking her head to the side.

“The herbs were for tea. There is really not much more I can tell you than this.”

“Maggie, what’s- oh!” A young girl has appeared in the door, holding a candle in her hands. Molly curiously looks at her, her big round eyes and the neatly braided brown hair.

“Edith, I’ll be right there. I still have a customer, but you can wait over there until we are finished.” Maggie, the old woman, smiles and turns back to Molly.

“Anything else you might need?”

Smiling to himself, Molly picks up a thyme and aster bundle and drops two copper coins on the table.

“No, I think I know everything that I need to know. Good evening.” Then he gets up and walks outside, smelling the dried plants.

She still hides something and of that he is sure. But without the right questions he doesn’t have a chance of tricking her into saying it. Rubbing his thumb over the crossbar of his sword, Molly thinks for a moment and puts together what he knows. The mage was here, slept in the Greenstone Inn and bought supplies from Maggie that she doesn’t know what he used them for and neither does Molly. But it’s a lead. And maybe he should look into the mage’s packs to find the incense and coal. If they are missing, it would mean they were part of whatever spell or curse backfired on him.

“Sir Mollymauk! Sir!”

Molly jolts. Nobody here knows his name. Blinking and then quickly scanning his vicinity, he finds a brownie standing next to him, being as tall as the middle of his thigh.

“Oh, it’s a brùnaidh, what a pleasure.” Molly greets him and subtly leans down to hear better.

The fairy is agitated, clutching a rag in one hand and a flower stem in the other, the brownie wears worn leather boots and a rough looking linen trousers with a dark brown tunic. The hair is curly brown with a distinct hint of green where the light reflects and it’s cheeks are a healthy rose under two sparkling dark eyes.

“Yes, yes. What a pleasure. It’s also a pleasure to see you here, Mollymauk! And a good thing too!”

“Oh?” Molly cocks his head in surprise, tucking the small bundle of dried plants into his belt.

“How so?”

“Some- oh I almost can’t say it, such a dreadful crime it is! Some- some-“ The agitated brùnaidh hops from one foot to the other, waving the flower stem through the air.

“Some brute just helped himself to some of my plants and flowers! I cared for them so much and I watered them regularly, plucked the snails from their leaves and read stories to them and then- and then!”

“Shh, shh. I’m sorry, it must be a shock.” Molly tries to calm the brownie down, catching one little fist in his hand to squeeze it gently. Throwing a glance over his shoulder, he finds the street empty for now.

“It was. Such a shock! And then I followed the trails of this scoundrel and they led me here- Oh, when I find that bastard!” The brownies cheeks grow even more reddish and the hair starts to lift like the fur of a cat meeting a dog.

“The trail led you here?” Instantly, Molly’s interest is piqued.

“Would you like to show me where this happened? Maybe I can help you. Tell me, did you happen to see the person who committed this crime?”

Nodding furiously, the brownie turns and just tugs Mollymauk along, now holding fast to his hand.

“It was a human. Red hair with lots of mud in it. And he just plucked them off like it was nothing, my poor little arnica, my chamomile!”

Trying to keep pace, Molly quickens his steps.

“When did this happen?”

“Last night, I was busy with sweeping the house, little Tom has been rather neglecting the chore. As the human came by I peeked over Tom’s shoulder as they spoke. Blue eyes and red hair, I thought they looked pretty!” The brownie bites out, the raw emotion of disappointment filling it’s voice, but Molly had stopped listening to its woeful tale as it said it had been last night. Last night! How? The mage was still in the form of Ginger, and the cat never left the room. Couldn’t!

They come to a house with a red bench out front and an overgrown garden embracing it.

“Here is the place, Sir Mollymauk. Just look at it! How dreadful!”

Kneeling down between the vivid shrubs and dense greenery, Molly indeed finds broken stems and missing flowers. The brownie touches its hand hesitantly to one severed stem of chamomile and sighs deeply.

“How horrible. Unfortunately I can’t bring back what has gone beyond the veil.” Molly starts to explain and the brownie nods its head in solemn understanding.

“But I can try to lessen your grieve. Here, this might help brighten your days.”

And he slips his hand into the small pouch on his belt to produce a sprinkle of flower seeds. As Molly drops them in the hands of the fairy, it smiles a little.

“Will you find the human who did this? Will you tell him that he made me very angry and very sad?” The brùnaidh wants to know, its eyes big and hopeful as it looks up at Molly.

“I will. As soon as I stand before him, I will tell him. He took chamomile and arnica, yes? Anything else?”

“He took some of my ribwort and marigold. Then a few stems of hollyhock and not even the yarrow was safe from him!”

Scratching his meager ingrowing beard, Molly thinks about the assortment of plants the mage took with him.

“Those are all plants important to your- our kind.” He then concludes, getting up again.

“That’s why it is such a crime! He could’ve asked at least!” The brownie hisses, stuffing the seeds into its pocket, together with the rag.

“I’ll find him.” The knight whispers, putting his hand on the brownie’s shoulder with a reassuring squeeze.

“Yes?”

“Don’t worry. It seems he’s rather close.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be posted on October 28 :)


	17. Let the Stars guide the Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where ways part, let the stars guide the way

Caleb opens his eyes and swears as he notices that his cat did not make sure he would wake up somewhere safe. Like underneath the bed where he had turned back last night. Quickly jumping to his feet, he pulls last night’s clothes from his pack and dresses again.

The sun outside is still quite far from the horizon, he has to wait for night to fall over the town before he can dare to try an escape. Squeezing himself under the bed again, he takes a book with him and spends the rest of the afternoon reading. A Frumpkin illusion is lazing on the wardrobe and he makes it purr as the Mollymauk comes into the room just before sundown.

“Hello, Ginger. How are you feeling?” The knight asks, stepping closer and lifting his hand.

Caleb holds his breath, his heart stopping briefly in his chest as he gets ready to move the illusion out of his reach. The knight's hand will pass cleanly through it and that would- There is a crunch underneath Mollymauk’s feet and the knight looks down.

“Ugh, Ginger!”

Spending the next few minutes sweeping the wood curls out onto the hallway, Mollymauk grumbles and scolds the illusionary cat. Pulling his book or his leg out of the brooms reach before having to lift himself on knees and hands to let it pass under his belly, Caleb has multiple almost cardiac arrests before he can calm down again, the Mollymauk sits at the table. The telltale sound of pages turning and a feather scratching over paper fills the room. About an hour goes by, then Mollymauk gets up and leaves the room, admonishing Frumpkin one last time. Feeling more agitated with every passing minute, Caleb contemplates if he should pack his things now or rather do it later. What if one of the others comes back into the room before he's safely away? With energy humming through him, he stays underneath the bed.

As the sun vanishes behind the roof of the house across the alley and not one minute later, Caleb darts out from underneath the bed, grabbing the two packs containing his belongings and hauling them through the window. Not wanting to waste any of his energy, Caleb lets gravity do her job and falls the last few feet he can’t dangle from the windowsill. Grunting with the fall and the pack filled with book colliding into his stomach, Caleb breathes for a second. Then he forces himself up and onwards, into the stables.

Readying Basil takes too much time for his liking, but another twenty minutes later he has gotten the saddle and bridle on and thrown a glamour over the horse. Basil is now sporting deep brown fur and a dark mane. Like that, Caleb leads the gelding outside and peers around a corner. The streets are still busy for this time of the day and if he takes the gate closing time from his last visit to be the norm, it should still be open. Walking next to Basil, Caleb heads towards the town edge, hiding behind the horse’s massive body.

His heart almost stops in his chest as Mollymauk comes walking out in front of him, hand settled on the knob of his sword and a drive in his step that Caleb feels chills run down his spine. In the last moment, Caleb manages to duck away and then he quickens his steps before he pulls himself up into the saddle as soon as the crowd has swallowed Mollymauk behind him. Taking the shortest way towards the gates, Caleb stirs Basil around people walking in any direction, chasing chicken or children while the sky continues to darken. He wants to kick the horse into a run, but it might even slow him down if he were to run somebody or something over, so Caleb restrains himself. Finally the gate comes into view and Caleb urges the gelding to trot faster.

As the guards hear him coming, they turn around with annoyance evident in their faces.

“Halt! The gate is closed for the day!”

"But I need to ride-"

"The gate is closed, it's past sundown!"

Sweat building on his brow, Caleb decides to take a risk. He needs to get out, now. The full moon night does not wait for him and neither does the knight slow down on his way to take Caleb to Camelot. Going back there is no option and Caleb's arms itch with the memory.

He knows that the travel group wants to depart tomorrow and both the absent cat and the absent gelding are going to draw attention and only lead Mollymauk to one solution. As soon as the knight was going to enter the room tonight, he would probably know and therefore time was running out. He could have already noticed something was off. Didn't he walk out the street leading to Maggie's shop? No, Caleb needed to get through that gate and ride fast and far. In addition, he's tired of this town's folk stepping on his toes.

Throwing caution to the wind, Caleb squares his shoulders and lifts his hand, showing the sigil of his magecraft glowing on his palm and projecting it into thin air.

“Let me out, now! I demand it as a mage of King Arthur.”

The guards halt in their actions, one gripping his halberd tighter.

“But Ser Mage! You need to understand, the gate has been closed and it would mean a lot of-“

“And you must understand” Caleb cuts him off with ice in his voice, holding his composure by a thread as his patience and energy start to run out.

“That there are things of importance in this world you cannot even hope to comprehend. Now open that gate or it will have consequences you’d rather not experience if you should delay my departure another second.”

His hand erupts in flames and Caleb can see them dance in the reflections of the guards' wide eyes. Damn fools.

Pushing his comrade out of the way, the other guard hurries over towards a series of levers and ropes. Between the two, they manage to open the gate wide enough for Basil to fit through. Not waiting for anything, Caleb pushes his heels into the gelding’s sensitive flanks and the horse leaps forward and into the night.

He hears a scream behind him.

\------------ 

Bursting into the tavern, Molly doesn’t greet Beau or Nott, he just straight up walks to the room and unlocks the door. As he walks in, the window is open, there is no cat and two packs are missing. Swearing and loosening his sword from its sheath he runs down the stairs into the tavern room.

“Up! Get the bags! We’re leaving!” He snaps at Beau, storming out towards the stables. He finds Bo and Molli, but Buttercup is missing and he wants to scream, wants to punch his fist into a wooden post.

“Maurice, what?” Beau stomps in behind him, gripping the reigns that Molly is holding too tight, Bo already stepping agitatedly.

“He left. The mage left.” Molly grinds out through his teeth, grabbing Bo’s reigns from his squire and starting to ready his horse.

“What?!” Beau gasps.

“I have reason to believe he’s not a cat all of the time. And he took the chance to run. If we’re fast, we might still catch him before he makes it out of the gate.” Molly explains to him, grabbing the saddle and throwing it onto Bo’s back with little finesse. Bo whinnies with displeasure and shakes his head while Molly’s hands fly over him, tightening the saddle straps and then guiding Bo out of his box.

“I’ll get the packs, make sure to pay the stable hand.” He calls over to Beau and throws him a silver coin from his purse. Back at the tavern, Nott is frantically putting things in their packs, looking under the bed and on top of the wardrobe with big unbelieving eyes.

“Ginger- he’s gone. I think he jumped out the window!”

“He did. We’re going to chase him.” Molly tells her, grabbing four of the remaining five packs. The books are gone, so that makes it a lot easier, none of the packs are that heavy apart from his armour.

“Where are the books?” Nott calls after him.

“He took them!”

He doesn’t hear more. On his way out he pays the innkeeper and then throws their packs on the horses, Molli, being very surprised by his energy and the speed he bounces around her, snorts but otherwise keeps her calm. Beau himself is tying his boots tighter and then jumps up on Molli, extending a hand to Nott as she comes hurrying around the corner with the rest of their packs slung around her shoulders.

“What is happening?!” She hollers, before getting pushed up a horse and settled behind Beau.

“Our mage is not always in cat form. He made a run for it and we have to catch him before he passes through the town’s gate. He also has Buttercup.” Molly explains to her in rapid sentences, pulling himself up into Bo’s saddle and spurring him on the moment his ass touches the saddle. The stallion surges forward, going from standing into a full sprint without a seconds hesitation and Beau’s mare is hot on his heels, packing a powerful lunge in her gait that throws Nott backwards. She hurriedly grabs Beau around his hip and the people on the street, seeing them rushing out, jump out of the way as quick as they can.

\------------

Screams back at the gate have Caleb turn his head around and he sees a commotion as two horses with their riders try to pass through the crowd.

A huge black horse, the knight's horse, Caleb remembers, plows its way through and then sprints towards the gate. The light is dim and the moon only half full but Caleb feels the burning stare of dark brown eyes falling on his face. He quickly dips down over Basil’s saddle and presses his heels into his sides, spurring him up to a speed he had not gone for probably most his life. Whispering into his fist, Caleb coats them both in darkness, hoping it’s enough to vanish into the night from the watchful eyes of the Mollymauk.

\------------

Their chase through the streets had been quick, up until the gate. Now there are people in just all the wrong spots, hindering Bo from making progress. Molly catches sight of a redheaded figure in front of them. His eyes zero in on the mage, the horse has a different colour than Buttercup, but he is a mage, Molly just feels it in his bones and the image of the mage's face staring back at him burns itself into his mind. The guards are closing the gate, seeing that it was already open and the mage has already made it through makes Molly's heart start to pound faster and he yells at the guards to stop closing the gate. He spurs Bo into a sprint, breaking through the people and leaving his squire and the maid behind. With one hand gripping the reigns tight, he draws his sword with his left hand halfway out of its sheath. The buzzing of its energy wrapping around his wrist intensifies and his hand becomes lavender, his nails growing pointed and black. The guards seem to not have heard him, the gate is still closing as the mage’s horse jumps into action and darts out into the night.

“Hold the gate open!” Molly calls out to them again, fixated on the space between the two gate doors. One guard sees him and calls a warning to his friend who stands in Bo’s way and Molly has to make a split second decision to either run him over, risk Bo getting stuck in the gate or stop chasing after the mage. With a frustrated scream, Molly lets go of his sword and grips the reigns with both hands, pulling Bo to a brutal stop. The horse screams and with the force of his hind legs digging into the ground, Bo comes to a stop but still tackles the guard to the ground with his chest. The gate closes and the gap narrows.

"Look out where you're going!" The standing guard screams at Molly, but he's ignoring him, he just stares out into the night and at the figure riding off into the darkness. He hopes the mage can feel his stare and knows that this is not the end. He quickly throws the sleeve down over his left hand, then fixes the guards on the ground with a steely glare. The gate falls closed with a loud boom.

“Are you out of your mind?”

\------------

Fear is not the right way to describe the feeling that runs through him. It’s partly a kind of thrill, uncertainty about what the entity known as Mollymauk can do, what is at his disposal. Caleb grits his teeth, going through the spells he has to mask his whereabouts, to keep himself off the map until he is ready for the full moon. Another frantic look back shows him that the gate is closed and no one is chasing him, but the commotion behind is audible over the thunder of Basil's hooves.

Breathing out and slumping forward, Caleb goes slack with relief. His gaze strays up to the sky, deciphering the stars and the pictures hidden away in them. Correcting Basil's course, Caleb nudges him to face north. Counting from the moon to the east he searches for the stars he needs to follow. They are three in a row, the middle one twinkling brighter than his two companions. Opening his palm and stretching thumb and forefinger as far as they can go, Caleb stretches his right arm all the way out and aligns his fingertips with the two outer stars. The little triangle appearing that way, points downwards and slightly to the left from his viewpoint and he stirs Basil into the direction of its tip. He needs to cover a good distance before he turns back into Frumpkin, make it to a safe place.

For him, the night has just begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be posted on the 4th of November :)


	18. The Devil's Horns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With the mage gone, Molly has to take a new approach...

Watching Maurice dismount and give the guards a piece of his mind, Beau feels her own irritation go up in smoke. She holds back and looks over to the closed gate, contemplating what had happened. The gelding had been gone from the stables and Maurice had swept through the streets like a blood hound, so what else could she have done than run after the knight?

It had been a narrow thing as Maurice just about missed the guard, managing to stop Bo before the horse ran the man over. She has seen before what hooves could do if they landed in the wrong places of a human body, especially the head.

They argue, Maurice demands the gate to be opened. Two more guards turn up as they see the commotion. At first, Beau thinks that Maurice might be able to persuade the two gate posts but soon enough it becomes evident that the four guards are against opening the gate during the night. And in addition, as one of them had been nearly run over, they accuse the knight of reckless behaviour and prompt him to take it up to their supervisor.

“If you’re so against opening the gate at night, why did he make it through?” Maurice hisses, arm outstretched towards the gate.

“He’s a mage of Camelot! There was fire in his hand!”

“And I’m a knight of Camelot!”

A fifth person turns up, wearing less armour but his demeanor is calmer. He stops shortly, Beau can see him smoothing his hand over his jerkin.

“I’ve been informed about the commotion here. I'm their captain.” He announces himself, making a slight bow towards Maurice.

“I’m sorry Ser Knight, my men might have acted wrongfully, but it’s enough to have opened the gate once at the wrong time.”

“Are you the one to say the final word on this matter?”

The man nods. He takes Maurice over to the side to talk with him in hushed tones. The remaining guards huff, puffing out their chests and two of them walk off again.

Meanwhile, Nott sits behind Beau, fiddling and nervous enough that her energy seeps into Beau and makes her just as irritated.

“Quit it.” She snarls behind her. The maid jumps in surprise.

“Sorry- I’m just-“

She starts rummaging through her shoulder bag and produces a flask sewn from hardened and waxed leather. Taking a swig from it, the harsh smell of strong alcohol fills the air and Beau wrinkles her nose in distaste.

“What the hell, Nott.”

“I need it!” The smaller woman defends herself and takes another big gulp, her eyes crossing as the alcohol starts to hit her. Slurring some unintelligible words, she stuffs the flask back in her pack, hands curling tighter into Beau’s shirt.

A very furious Maurice walks over to them, holding Bo’s reigns in a death grip.

“Imbeciles, these unbelievable morons.” He fumes, reaching Beau’s side.

She looks down at him, feeling surprisingly calm in the face of his wrath.

“What did he say?”

Lightning in his eyes, Maurice looks up at Beau.

“There are rules the knights of our good king have to follow, which the mages are exempt from. Please understand, Ser Knight… and so on.”

With quick hands, he binds Bo’s reigns to her saddle.

“Anyway. You stay here and keep an eye out. We won’t be able to get after him until the gate opens the next morning. I need to take care of this mood, take a walk. Then well find a room.” Maurice growls, his eyes heated.

“Yeah, okay.” Beau nods, throwing a worried glance over her shoulder at Nott.

True to his words, Maurice takes a deep breath, then walks across the street towards an alley. He soon vanishes into the night.

“Shouldn’t- shou-shouldn’t we go with him?” Nott asks, leaning her cheek against Beau’s back.

“You’re drunk, I don’t think so.” The squire answers, leaning forward in her saddle to pat Molli.

“Bu- but he could get into trouble.”

Bo snorts like he wants to agree with the maid. Beau looks at the stallion, then replies.

“And? What am I supposed to do? I’m but a humble squire. And plus, I’m not allowed to get involved in bar brawls.” She rolls her eyes.

“He is in a foul mood, I be- bet he’s gonna- kick up a fuss.” Nott chuckles, the alcohol loosening her tongue.

“He can hold his own. You see how he throws me every time we wrestle?” The squire shoots back.

There is really not much she would have to help the knight with, regarding his abilities in fighting. And he is not drunk or incapacitated in any other way to be reckless enough to pick a fight with more opponents then he could handle. Or would he?

Minutes go by, then half an hour and Nott’s state does not get better as she continues to drink. Running out of ways to distract herself, Beau starts to feel worry creep up on her. Her father got very different when he was angry, she thinks and feels shivers run down her spine. He'd be a different person. What if Maurice was like that, but in a different way than her asshole father? Beau would hate to loose her knight.

She decides to see whether Maurice is alright and to rise over his command to stay put. Viciously cursing her bleeding heart, Beau jumps down, almost throwing Nott off in the process. The maid slumps forward, catching herself against the saddle. Beau tugs one of her tunics from her pack, wrapping the parts of her staff hanging from her belt to minimize the noise. Tugging at Molli’s reigns, Beau leads the horses over towards the guards, who look weary and concerned as she approaches.

“Good evening. I need to catch up with my knight, he needs me on urgent business. I’ll leave the horses and our travel companion under your guard.” She bows quickly, receiving only a groan and a curt nod as an answer. Dipping her hand into her small coin purse, she gives each guard a silver, making a note in the back of her head to ask Maurice for an allowance. Turning around to Nott, the maid has whipped out a dagger from somewhere beneath her cloak. Beau startles back.

“Gods, what the-“

“I’ll stab whoever tries to steal from us!” She hisses, slicing the air with the dagger and snarling drunkenly. Beau contemplates for a second, then just accepts it.

“Whatever, just stab the right ones.”

For good measure, she binds Molli to a post and then jogs off, after Maurice into the alley. From there on it is a series of asking if anybody saw a knight or man with the colours maroon, gold and violet represented in his attire walk by. Or storm by, she’s not sure. Keeping an ear out for the muffled impacts of fists or feet, Beau jogs through the streets, along the light of torches and wayward townspeople on their way to a pub or home. Three different strangers are able to point her in the direction of where Maurice went and if she is not mistaken, she is nearing the outer region of the city, closer and closer to the wall. Is he trying to climb over it? Look for another exit? Do a really big round of walking?

There are no more people to ask, everybody around already in their houses or in town center to drink the night away. The streets are quiet, one pair of guards rounding a corner but not looking at her too hard. Almost ready to just turn around and run back to the horses and Nott, Beau comes to a halt and breathes deeply for a second. Maybe Maurice already circled back, reached Nott and as Beau was currently away from her post, it was going to be a problem for her. Beau groans, not keen on another heart to heart with the knight. He is so disgustingly sympathetic when she did something wrong, instead of just telling her what she did wrong, yelling a bit for good measure. That would be nice, she knows how to deal with yelling people.

Tapping her toes to the ground, Beau rights the position of her boots on her feet and turns around to take off again, back to Nott. Hopefully she didn’t stab anybody. While she jogs, Beau hears a loud metal noise, like a smithy was nearby and the blacksmith hammering on a piece of metal. She furrows her brow. The guy is still awake? Contemplating for a second, Beau decides to take a look on her way back, as she’s already in trouble anyway.

See whether Sam got into too much trouble because of her, she could just quickly jog by and throw in a glance or a kind word.

Jogging along the dim streets, the eye of the moon moving over the sky above her, Beau follows her ears towards the sounds that break off sometimes before resuming again. The two halves of her staff rhythmically tap against her thigh, throwing her balance off sometime. She ignores it and concentrates once more on her surroundings.

There is not only smell of smoke, slack or anything remotely metallic in the air anymore, rather her nose in addition picks up on notes of herbs, burning herbs, and the distinct odor of burning wood. Rounding the corner with urgency in her steps, Beau darts forward, hoping to not find the blacksmith on fire. As she first glances over the building, it appears to be fine, lights low and the red light of the hearth licking over the naked beams as well as the lonely figure standing under the smithy’s roof.

“There’s not much you can do, Ser Knight. If none is called, none can step through.”

“Don’t tell me about the things I already know, Havel. I’m agitated right now, don’t test my patience.” Maurice snarls, arms crossed over his chest and foot tapping on the ground.

“Will this at least be done by the morning then?” He asks impatiently.

“I can see that you're impatient, but there is no hurrying the craft, I fear. Though I’m confident it’ll be done before the moon touches Ifra’s pinnacle.”

The voice of the blacksmith says, the man himself walking into view, still in his apron and lanky, but his skin is covered with short black fur, amber eyes slit horizontally like a goats, ears large at the sides of his head. A patient grin curls the broad mouth underneath a flat nose, stubby horns starting at his forehead to more pairs sprouting back over his head, growing in length and curliness. He holds a bar of some metal, stroking it with his thumb

Nodding, Maurice holds up his hands in defeat, mumbling something but Beau doesn’t hear him, she is utterly transfixed by the creature in front of her eyes, looking like a devil from the illustrations in tales she’s read as a child. The blacksmith, because it had to be him despite the visual differences, the creature has such a similar air to him, turns around and ambles over to his anvil, taking tools off the wall as he goes. He has a tail, it’s short and whips from side to side mischievously. Beau stares, and her breathing grows quicker, she knows it does by the burning in her throat. How wouldn’t it, she’s never been trained for something like that!

Clamping both hands over her mouth, she slowly, so slowly, steps closer to the shadow of the corner, hiding. The air behind her hands grows hot, stagnant, and she wants to gasp into the fresh air, pull a lungful of sweet night air. Eyes burning, she takes another step, hurried this time to get out of eyesight. Her foot falls on something soft and she trips, catching herself as something pulls on her hip. As she regains her footing, suddenly the parts of her staff smash together, the hollow sound of wood echoing through the air.

Maurice turns around and looks directly at Beau, his eyes red. Why are they red?! Beau feels her heart frost over, feeling the danger she’s in and the recognition of this danger pouring down over her mind like a bucket of cold water. What did she get herself into, was this how her life would end? Not beaten to dead for too much insolence, not hung from a horse for being audaciously craving knighthood as a woman, not after a longsuffering life of married misery? By the hands of a devil fey-creature, by the hands of her knight, not-knight.

“Beau!”

Her name whips through the air, tangling around her feet to tether her to the ground. Maurice moves, his steps carrying him closer to her, brown eyes lit up with anger. Brown, his eyes are brown, how could she ever think they were red? But she saw…

“Beauregard, what have I told you? Stay with Nott!” The knight is now right in front of her, staring her down.

Beau blinks. That’s Maurice, Ser Leonhardt of the Emerald Lake, right there. Not some fey creature. Why is her heart beating so fast? Why are her hands clamped over her mouth to muffle any sound?

“Beau?”

He’s asking her something, voice lowered and concerned. Then she sees Maurice blink, eyes widen.

“You saw him, didn’t you?”

Beau never thought her heart could beat so fast, her muscles tense as she feels herself get ready to bolt, run as fast as she’s never run before. Cold sweat runs down her neck, collects under her clothes, runs down her neck. It’s a now or never thing, Maurice knows she saw. It’s only going to be another minute before her fate is sealed. Long live Beauregard Lionett.

Ducking, Beau pushes off the wall to her right, aiming to round the corner and run back to some more crowded street, shake Maurice off-

She’s thrown to the ground, her foot getting pulled out from underneath her as they get tangled in the tunic hanging loose from her belt. Maurice lurches after her to straddle her, hands moving over her mouth as it opens to scream.

“Shh. Calm, Beau- please calm down! It’s alright, it’s alright.”

Beau kicks and struggles, pulls until the hand vanishes, but then another connects with her cheek, the slap cracking through the air. It’s been a long time since she got slapped like that, it shocks her into apathy, staring up at Maurice, whose hand is still raised like he wants to do it again. Blinking at each other, the knight deflates, lowering his hand.

“So-Sorry, Beau. Gods, I never-.” Maurice stumbles over his words, leaning back and taking deep breaths. As he’s not crowding her anymore, Beau's body is fizzling as her lungs suck in as much air as they can manage.

“Slow down, breathe slowly, Beau. Come on. It’s alright.”

Beau swallows, closely watching Maurice’ gestures, facial expressions, anything.

“You okay?” He asks, eyes roaming over her.

She’s not dead yet, he’s been apologizing… Beau’s anger rears its head, making her snap.

“What the hell! There’s a fucking goatman in the smithy, by the Gods-“

Shushing her, Maurice stands and pulls her up from the ground, but she doesn't stop.

“A freaking goat! And he’s walking-“

“There is no need to be screaming about it like that!” Maurice grouses, pushing her over to the smithy, looking over his shoulder for any further uninvited guests.

“Oh, that’s your squire, right?” The goat asks, turning around to look at Beau, who starts to struggle again, only to be held in place by Maurice gripping her arms tight.

“It’s him, yeah. He’s too nosey for his own good.” Maurice says, pushing her further.

“If you’re going to kill me, do it now!” Beau demands, the muscles of her jaw tightening.

Tilting his head, the goat looks over to Maurice.

“Did we need blood?”

“Gods! No!” The knight exclaims. Then he turns to face Beau, eyes filled with exasperation.

“You! Quit acting like an idiot! No one is going to kill you!" Maurice stabs a finger at Beau's collarbone, his brows drawn together and his temper heated.

"I’m mighty pissed at you for not listening to me, so I might just whack you some during our next lessons in sword fighting." He huffs, then clears his throat and calms his voice.

"Not like you wouldn’t need the training anyway!”

Staring at Maurice, Beau deflates.

“I- What the hell is happening here?” She asks, ignoring whatever power imbalance there may be between her as a squire and Maurice as a knight. Pointing towards the smith she goes on.

“What- what is he?”

The blacksmith coughs, Beau throws him a sceptic glance.

“Should I explain or would you, Ser Mol- Knight? I’m of the impression that you’d rather have me get to work.” There it is again, that name, or part of it. Beau doesn’t want to be left out any longer, she wants to know. Maurice has turned to look over at the goat, nodding.

“Do that, Havel. I’ll tell my nosey squire what he needs to know.”

Feeling the hands on her arms tighten, Beau gets herded deepener inside the smithy and sat down on a low bench. Maurice slumps down to her left, effectively hindering her from darting out the building. He seems to be sorting through his thoughts, fingers tapping against each other.

“Why did you follow me? I gave you simple enough orders for any birdbrain to follow.” He then asks.

“I thought you might be in trouble!" Beau exclaims, throwing her head back.

"Guess I was stupid to care. And what the hell is with this name the goatman almost said, Maurice, or is that even your name?” Beau wants to know, turning to face the knight head-on.

“It is.” Maurice says and his face is a complicated mix of emotions that vanish as quickly as they had shown.

“But I thought you were more interested in there being a goatman at all.”

Beau opens her mouth, but Maurice is not giving her a chance to quip back at him, he immediately continues speaking.

“I know you and Nott have heard about the fey, but did you ever read or hear about beings called Fir Bolgs? The Érainn?”

“F-Fir Volgs?” Beau furrows her brow, curiosity winning over her instinct to be distrustful. Still, questions are smoldering on her tongue, she knows Maurice is trying to get away by distracting her with a different topic. Grinning at her like nothing is wrong and like there is no giant goatman standing in the smithy, patiently mixing things together in a thimble, Maurice goes on.

“Fir Bolgs, close enough. They are quite old ones with a lot of history. Maybe we’ll be able to cover the majority of the tale before he’s done with the seal.”

Maurice looks at her, sparkles dancing in his eyes as he starts to weave a spectacular tale from the darkness clinging in dark corners, the silver moonbeams and the herbal notes floating through the air. Meanwhile, the Fir Bolg hammers the metal on the anvil and the fire plays in purple hues over his fur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be posted on 11th of November :)


	19. Sir Leonhardt and the Érainn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A nightly interlude

“Wait, wait! You’re telling me that the goatman is a fairy? Descended from the Érainn?” 

Molly nods, appraising Beau’s reaction. The squire is obviously soaking up every piece of information, picking at the small details that don’t quite fit. Molly wishes he wouldn’t have to do this now, the mage still rattling his thoughts and making him want to run up a wall with frustrated energy. What detail had he himself overlooked to let the mage get away? With his supplies and everything on top of that!

Beau’s voice shakes him from his brooding and Molly turns to face his squire.

“The Érainn were people that came to Eire… They settled there but got enslaved by the Fomorians, as being descendants of the Nemed… Those were people! Not things like- like him.” Beau hisses after mumbling his conclusions and Molly just nods.

Havel turns around, smiling patiently and takes something from the wall, then selects a small piece of silvery metal.

Mollymauk eyes his progress with interest, then looks back to Beau.

“They were, but the Fomorians weren’t. And they fought against each other in great battles, the Tuatha Dé Danann joined the war and in all honesty, who could keep track of such things back in those days? When taxes were paid in a third of all milk and children?”

Tilting his head, Beau’s eyes sneak back over to Havel, who is now working with a slim tool, smoothing it over the metal.

Sorting his thoughts and pushing the mage to the back of his head for the moment, Molly stares into the fire, flickering languidly in the hearth.

“The Fir Bolgs, to start from the beginning, are descendants of the Nemed, who themselves are called the Muintir Nemid. They were the third people to come to Eire after the people of Cessair and the people of Patholón, fighting the Fomorians for land and survival. They won, but then died from a plague within nine years after first setting foot on Eire. The few survivors vanished, fleeing to the North, going to the South across the ocean or set foot on Britain to the East. Whoever remained in Eire was possibly enslaved by the remaining Fomorians and this… changed them.”

Gently gesturing over to the smith, Molly takes in a shuddering breath.

“Now they are deeply rooted in the realms of fey, but due to their human side some of them also dwell on this side. The Fomorians were masterful craftsmen, woodworkers or metalworkers, their talents renowned for their leatherworking or talents of growing plants. Anything you could name. They were incredibly skilled as much as they were perceived to be ugly. And so, some of the Fir Bolgs learned their skills and still practice the arts and are deeply in touch with the nature that brought their ancestors forth.”

Beau stares at Molly and the knight starts to feel like he overwhelmed his human squire. He draws his thumb over the handle of his sword, letting the tiny vibrations running through it soothe him. It tickles something, tries to drag something to the forefront of his mind, but he doesn’t have manage grasp it before Beau raises his voice again.

“The Fomorians aren’t there anymore, right?”

“No, the Fir Bolgs that fled North found a different fate. They became gods, the Tuatha Dé Danann, and came back to fight the Fomorians for their seats in the pantheon of otherworldly beings. In the end, the Tuatha Dé won and forced the Fomorians into the ocean, to realms far beyond. Eire bloomed under the reign of the Tuatha Dé and they gave parts of Eire back to the Fir Bolgs in a show of compassion. It’s… long in the past. Today the Tuatha Dé Danann are said to sleep underneath the hills and waves.”

Silence stretches between them, Beau’s eyes darting over Molly’s face while Havel calmly works in the background, flakes of metal and shiny curls falling into the fire where they disperse into blue vapour.

“How do you know all these things?” Beau asks, leaning closer.

Molly contemplates, thinks for a second about just spilling it all now, admitting in this moment that he is more than he seems to be at first glance. There were undoubtedly worse situations for revealing himself to be a fey than sitting comfortably around the hearth of a smithy, but he hesitates. The words die on his tongue. Beau had been hysteric at the first sight of the Fir Bolg, he doesn’t see a chance the squire won’t react negatively again as soon as Molly showed his true nature.

“Travelling, my dear squire. And reading.” He says instead, leaning back and stretching his legs out in front of him.

“It brings you to the strangest places and the strangest people, both real and imaginary. You’d be surprised how many seemingly simple requests lead to something unbelievable. That’s how I met with Havel here, it’s been many moons since then.”

“Yeah, of course.” The boy grouses leaning back as well. Undoubtedly he had expected something more mystical than that.

“Many, many moons.” Molly repeats, just to rile him up.

“Speaking of the moon.” Havel amicably starts, looking up and over his shoulder.

“She’s very lovely tonight, filling out nicely. You get to see more and more of her each night.”

“Yes, very lovely.” Molly says, letting his head loll to the side a little to maybe catch a glimpse of her, but the roof stretches too far, only the shadows created by the moon’s light tell him that the sky is clear and the moon bright.

Beau next to him is fidgeting again, rubbing his knuckles restlessly with a thoughtful expression.

“Maurice... What happened at the gate? Who was that guy that stole the gelding really the mage?”

Molly grits his teeth.

“Oh I’m getting a headache just from thinking about it.” Mollymauk fumes, jumping up to pace the smithy.

“That was the mage. Who was supposed to be a cat, but I guess he’s not. At least wasn’t at the moment.” Whipping around to make another lap through the workshop, Molly breathes out harshly, trying to get rid of some of his irritation.

“I can’t believe I only just noticed it and then he’s already on the run! What coincidence is this?”

“It means you missed something before.” Beau just comments, hooking his hands into his belt, the staff pieces clacking together.

He’s surprisingly calm now, Molly notices. Rolling his eyes, the knight walks past Beau and mutters under his breath.

“Smartass. Of course I missed something. I just can’t find it.”

He sees Beau shrug and a half-smile tugs at the squire’s lips. Havel mutters something, sucking in a lungful before gently blowing onto the metal he’d been working on. The metal glows, then sparks like a small pile of embers and the Fir Bolg goes back to etching, more curls flying through the air while his goat tail flicks in contrast to his otherwise almost motionless form.

“I think I should get back to Nott.” Beau groans, standing up again and breaking Molly out of his angry rumbling.

"Good point, where is she?"

“I left her behind to look for you. It's probably better that I get back to her now.” The squire explains, rolling his shoulders before starting to walk towards the exit.

“Yeah, do that. Here.” Molly takes coins from his purse, it’s growing lighter but he’s not yet concerned about it, he still has his reserve.

“Get a room at the Red Donkey, I’ll be with you as soon as this is finished.” He throws it, making it spin with a flick of his thumb.

Beau catches the coins with one hand, then stops.

“Don’t mind me being curious, but what is he working on? What is 'it'?”

“Yeah, like I'd tell you. You've been curious enough today.” Molly scoffs, waving his hand at Beau to get him going.

“Come on!” Beau complains, spinning the coin between his fingers.

„Scram.“ Molly just grins and walks over to peer over Havel’s shoulder.

Maybe Beau wanted to say some further things, but as he turns back around, the squire is gone.

“He’s a good egg.” Havel amicably remarks.

“I’m honestly surprised he didn’t... scream more.” Molly ponders while his eyes move over the seal starting to take on shape under the cautious hands of the Fir Bolg.

Four lightning bolts spreading outwards from the round centre, spanning over grooves filled with blue shimmer and small silver runes.

“It’s coming along beautifully.”

“Thank you.” Havel smiles over at him, straightening up take a look himself.

“Means a lot to have the Mollymauk and best friend of the Storm’s Chaser tell me that the seal is coming out beautifully.”

“You’re a good smith, the best I know. But I still can’t get over the fact that you showed me those awful swords yesterday.” Molly laughs, sauntering over to pick one of them off the wall.

“Look at it, it’s got a clear fault all over.”

“It might have, but the boy made it. You won’t find any of my works in this smithy for sale.” The Fir Bolg pulls a blunt needle through some substance and starts softly hammering it into the metal disk to make small dimples, working them into tiny spirals reminiscent of storm clouds.

Mollymauk meanwhile is looking at the sword with a different perspective.

“Oh, the one we saw when we were here? Your apprentice?”

“More like adopted son, he’s been abandoned, and I found him. Now he’s working hard every day to learn the craft and maybe later I’ll take the chance to go wandering again and he can have this smithy.”

Nodding, Molly puts the sword back and crosses his arms, leaning back against the wall. The night goes by and the tiny sounds of metal being worked wrap around Molly while he just lets himself get swept up and away by his thoughts.

The mage is gone, the gelding and the books as well. He never got to open the damn book with the cord around it. Maybe he should have let that fey have a hand at it…

Something about the Willowgast is putting him off. She’d been a veritably curious one. And what kind of coincidence had that been? There's that word again... coincidence. There have been too many coincidences to not make a pattern.

“Havel.” Molly starts, waiting for the Fir Bolg to flick his tail in a signal that he’s listening.

“Ever heard of the Willowgast? She’s a fey I met on the road from Belvedere’s castle to Bedwyn.”

“Hmm.” Havel hums, setting the tool aside and slowly settling the seal in a shallow bowl with some liquid in it.

He ambles over, pulling a stool from under the worktable and settling in front of Molly.

“You say you met her?”

“Yes, we made camp underneath her willow one night, though I didn’t notice that until she came out of her hiding to steal books.”

“Well, that’s interesting. Haven’t seen her in a long, long time. She stole books you say?"

Molly waves a hand through the air.

"She tried but I noticed her. She then told me that she just wanted to read them. So, have you heard of her? Do you know her?" He inquired.

"I don't... know her. But I've heard of her. Something happened some years ago and a fey named Willowgast vanished. So if she’s back now, that’s nice.”

“Oh? That's interesting. I didn't know she was one of them.”

“You should read that up in your records. It’s a good thing you and your predecessors keep track of the events around us. Fey live so long, days and weeks becoming indifferent from each other, and still their lives can be so vibrant and quick sometimes.”

The Fir Bolgs eyes glaze over for a second, getting lost his own flow of time. Molly just lets him be, trying to comprehend that one of these fey… If only he had known the precise name. This day is only becoming more and more frustrating to him, why didn’t he read the old records more thoroughly instead of just skimming over with the feeling that nothing could be done about it anyway. It had already been so long.

“Can you describe to me what she looked like?” Havel asks, leaning forward.

Before Molly can start with recounting, his eyes get distracted by the bowl with the seal in it. It started to glow faintly. He blinks and turns back to the waiting Havel.

“Reddish, ginger hair. Green eyes that would be blue the other day. Slender and well, long hair. Those eyes were incredible, like-“

“Like a deep forest pond.” The Fir Bolg nods, clasping his fingers together. Then he nods.

“It’s her, but I can’t believe she came back after all this time and not- just like that.”

Growing quiet again, Molly bites his lower lip. The Willowgast had not been the only person with ginger hair he had seen during the last weeks, his mind wandering back to what he had managed to see of the mage before he darted off into the night. On a horse that had been Buttercup but didn’t look like it.

“Maybe she didn’t come back.” He bites out.

This… this mage has had him dancing in circles for the entirety of the last weeks. Molly can feel his eyes grow red again with anger and there's growing pressure on his forehead that tells him that he is very close to breaking form due to his fury starting to get the best of him. Havel looks at him unphased.

“Oh?”

“Did Camelot or one of his mages have a connection to her disappearance?” Molly asks icely. If that mage knew the fey's face and modelled it to hide his own... 

“Camelot?” Havel leans back. His horns reflect the hearth’s light with their black shimmer.

“I think not, though that would be… unfortunate.”

“It would." Molly calmy states, pushing himself off the wall.

"I think I need to take a closer look at the records again. Thank you, Havel. You helped me lots.”

“Well if you think so. What are your next steps, why do you want to call on the Storm’s Chaser?”

“It’s in her name, isn’t it?” Molly grins.

“She’s a chaser, someone so much better at tracking than me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be posted on the 18th of November :)


	20. Sir Leonhardt calls the Thunder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting... hot ;)

Their night at the Red Donkey is nothing but a series of glances out the window, waiting for sunrise. Molly doesn’t want to just stare, he'd rather sleep and dream of nicer things than reality, but the energy thrumming through him just won't let him settle down to succumb to some hours of healthy sleep.

With sleep evading him, he tears through his memories, singling out any instances and small happenings when he could have noticed, if only he had not been ignorant of this human’s magic and thought it not worth of worries. If only he had spent a little more time with- Well, these things are in the past now.

Creasing his brow, Molly grinds his teeth. He should have paid more attention to this and not just go about it like it was a solely matter of humans. If he had been more curious, had stuck his nose into those books more.

A quiet, frustrated groan escapes him. Nothing to do about it now, he knows that. But by the Moon, he'll make up for this as soon as the gates open in the morning.

Molly taps his fingers over his stomach, staring at the ceiling. This is getting him nowhere, time stretching like honey.

He concentrates on the breathing rhythms of his companions, slowing his breath down to match. Unable to determine how long it takes he slips into a semblance of trance, but as soon as the sky starts to light up, Molly jumps out the bed and shakes his squire awake.

“Beau! Nott!”

With a start, Beau swings a fist through the air, almost catching Molly in the side.

“Huh?! What?”

“Up, it’s dawn.”

Beau groans and rolls to his side, face half-buried in the pillow. Nott blinks into the dim room, looking still half-asleep.

“Okay, okay- man…”

Nott is more asleep than not when they settle her in front of Beau on Molli’s saddle, barely holding on as they go trotting towards the gate. Seeing it open has Molly perking up and urging Bo on. They greet the new guard shift and head out onto the road, no more walls surrounding them, and Molly draws a deep breath. His eyes scan over the ground, finding marks of hooves overlaying each other and there are deep furrows from carts in the dirt. Farmers are on their way to their fields, shepherds drawing closer to Bedwyn to replenish their provisions, other travelers heading in or out the gate. The sky is a reddish orange in the east, the air cold enough to tingle in their noses and let their breaths cloud in front of their faces.

Nott groans and pulls her cloak tighter around her, Beau looking ahead stoically in his sleeveless tunic while his arms are covered in goose bumps.

“Where are we going?” The squire asks, nervously rubbing Molli’s reigns between his fingers. The knight points towards the road they came from.

“Back to the forest.”

“Why?” Beau asks, spurring Molli on to walk up to Bo.

Without saying a word, Molly holds up the metal seal Havel had given him, its glimmering beauty unparalleled in the morning's light. Beau’s eyebrows rise up.

"Oh, that. What's it do?"

Sparing a grin towards Beau, Molly half turns in his saddle.

"It's going to open a portal to a different world where dragons and trolls live." Then he jabs his heels into Bo's flank, prompting the steed to lurch forward and into a run.

"Not funny, man!" Beau calls after the knigth, grumbling before animating Molli to keep pace.

When Beau has caught up to Molly, both knight and squire just lean down like they share the same thought and urge their horses into a quick paced run. Nott scrambles to hold on, gritting her teeth.

“You’re gonna break my neck!” She fumes, Beau's only answering in wrapping his arm around her middle, which does not seem to not make her feel any more secure.

“Put your blasted hands on the reigns, Beau!” Nott screeches, falling forward to flatten herself to saddle and horse, hands tangled in Molli’s mane.

The distance they had traveled days ago flies away underneath their horses’ hooves, beating their relaxed and unhurried pace from before. They stop to let the horses rest after three hours of rushing, then get back to pushing ahead. Bo is starting to leave Molli behind, the stallion powering on like he never did anything else then run and run. Thankfully, after another hour, the first trees come into few and Beau can convince Molly to slow down to a trot.

“He’s already gone, no need to ruin the horses.” He says, trying to keep the worry off his face as Molli heaves and her flanks are covered in a sheen of sweat.

“All the more reason to not dally around, then.” Molly chews on the inside of his cheek and Beau only rolls his eyes at Nott, who looks a little green around the nose.

Underneath the shadow of the trees they leave the rocky road, Molly taking the lead again, to let Bo’s larger frame break through the underwood and trample down any obstacles like dead branches or underbrush.

“Where are we going?” Nott whispers up at Beau, urgently. Her tiny hand curls into the tunic at Beau’s shoulder as the maid turns in the saddle to have a better view of the squire’s face.

“I don’t know what he’s planning right now.” Beau answers, his voice sounding rough.

“Wha- what happened last night? When you came back you looked…. like shit.”

“Thanks.” Beau groans, rolling his eyes.

As he doesn’t say anything further, Nott asks again.

"What happed last night?"

Beau smacks his lips.

“Look, it was nothing… Maurice was weird as hell. Angry.”

“Did he tell you anything? What we’re doing here?”

Beau mutely shakes his head, thinking about the goatman and the other stuff he had heard of last night.

“Didn't tell me shit, I’m just his humble squire.”

Despite his words, Beau’s eyes are heated and his jaw tense with intent. They journey, on Molly keeping an eye out for a clearing, somewhere with a clear view of the sky above. He leads them through dips between gentle hills, taking small paths left behind by game underneath the towering beeches, oaks and pines, passing by a rowan tree one time. Molly takes that as a good boding as the tree is known to him as the 'traveler's tree'. As they pass, he plucks a handful of berries and slides them into his pocket for later use. Not long after that, he sees a shimmer up ahead and as he rides towards it, sunlight breaking through the foliage becomes apparent.

Molly stops at the edge of the clearing, maple trees lining the border to soak up the light and leaving the dim twilight to oaks and beeches.

He turns around to see his companions trot out of the forest, then he jumps off Bo.

“Alright, come here. Come on!” He calls over, impatiently fiddling along the edge of the seal.

Waving one hand for them to move closer, he settles his other hand on the pommel of his sword. Nott is stomping over to him, visibly upset.

“I want to know what is happening right now!” She demands, her hair seeming to stand on end with her agitation.

“The cat is gone! The mage is gone! Buttercup too! And we’re riding at breakneck speed and wander around a forest!”

“Isn't that the kind of adventure you were looking forward to?” He just reflects her with a smile, waiting for Beau to come over too.

Nott’s lips form into a tight line.

“Okay, what’s gonna happen now?” The squire asks as he reaches them, cocking his hips to one side with his arms crossed.

Looking both Nott and Beau over, Molly squares his shoulders and pulls the Storm’s Chaser seal from his pocket.

"I'm going to do something that might scare you a bit, but believe me if you sit tight, it's going to be worth the little fright."

Nott and Beau's faces remain unphased, looking at the seal. Clearing his throat, Molly smacks his lips.

"This'll be another wonderful adventure, so I think it's best you just bear with me and enjoy."

"I hear words coming out of your mouth but they make no sense." Nott remarks, hungrily eyeing the glittering silver of the seal.

"Whatever, no time like the present! Explanations later!" Molly exclaims.

Then he takes a step away and looks up to the sky, voice taking on a soft quality.

“Hey there, I’m sorry but I need you. I need you to help me with this, I can’t think of any other way at the moment. Please, darling.”

With both hands, he holds the seal and brushes both thumbs over the intricate glyphs, lighting bolts and the deep blue shimmering inlay in its centre. He holds it up to his lips, starting to mutter.

Then he holds the seal up to the sky, cloudless above their heads. Molly waits and as soon as a spark of energy fizzles over the back of his hand, Molly quickly throws the seal on the ground. As it touches the grass, it bounces once, a burning smell filling the air before a bolt of lightning hits straight down into it in midair, the air turning heated and energized. Twin screams from Nott and Beau echo over from behind Molly, but he only has eyes for the lightning bolt, writhing through the air and originating from a quickly growing, dark grey cloud, until the cloud completely covers the clearing, swallowing the sky and light. His hair is standing on end and his heart beats twice as fast.

“What the fuck!” Beau calls out and Molly quickly turns and runs over to them.

“She’s coming.” He screams excitedly over the wind and thunderclap, grabbing Bo’s reigns.

Another lightning bolt strikes into the smoking seal, connecting with the other through heated branches and between those arches, a different world starts to shimmer through, the forest around them disappearing to show grassland and sunset. A figure is there, still far off but moving towards them, long hair whipping in a breeze.

“What in hell is happening!? Who's that?!” Beau calls over the noise and Molly laughs, forgetting his role as knight for the moment.

“A friend! Don’t let yourself be put off by her appearance!” He calls over the noise.

Another crackle of energy and suddenly, the figure is so much closer, features of her face becoming discernible. Nott is huddled down behind Beau’s calf when a booted foot emerges from the lightning, clad in heavy leather boots. A woman, dressed in a billowing shroud of dark fabrics, torn and sewn together layers over layers looking like billowing clouds steps into the clearing, her hands in grey gloves. Her hair is a mane of braids and loose hair, flowing wildly and whipping in the gusts of wind accompanying her. A blue and a violet eye land on Molly, her pale skin in stark contrast to the dark brows drawn together. Molly tries for a charming smile that she just answers with a tiny tug of the corner of her mouth.

“Yasha.” He breathes, relieved to see her again. Her pale eyes find him and she smiles exasperatedly.

“Molly... Hey.” She just says, not needing to raise her voice over the wind and crackling to be heard.

Her eyes look over Beau and Nott, then she looks back at the lightening.

"We should go."

As she turns, a large sword on her back becomes visible, as big as her body and wrapped in crude leathers.

“Okay, you heard what she said. Go!” Molly calls over to Beau and Nott, pulling Bo along toward the lightning.

The stallion throws his head around and his eyes are rolling to show the white but then he lets out a challenging whiny and lets himself be lead through the tear. Looking over his shoulder, Molly looks over at his squire and Nott, both staring with fear after him. He turns around and hands the reigns of Yasha and jumps back through the lightning.

“Go! It won’t stay open forever!” He calls over while running, gripping Molli’s reigns to pull the mare along.

She’s not doing well with the white flashes and the burning smell of the air, the closer they come, the more she protests and even jumps. Molly is about to lose her, as Yasha extends her hand through the tear, touches Molli’s head and then just draws her over. Beau and Nott share a look, then hurry over and throw themselves through it as well, letting Molly step through. He’s over there and behind him, the gateway does a last big thunderclap, then vanishes. Looking over at Beau, he sees him stare at him. Then his lower back stings and Molly quickly reaches behind himself to tug his pants down and slit his tunic, letting hit tail pop free.

“Alright.” He smiles, settling his clawed hands upon his hips and whipping his tail mischievously through the air.

“Welcome to the feywild.”

Beau’s eyes are as big as plates and then there is shuffling behind his calves as Nott peeks out from behind the squire.

“What the-“

Beau stares at the purple skinned doppelgänger of the knight, teeth sharp under bright crimson eyes.

Nott looks up at Molly and cowers down, curling in on herself, fearful eyes blinking up at Yasha as well.

“Are you going to kill us now?” She asks.

Taking a step back, Molly shakes his head.

“No! No, I’m not. We're not!” He says.

He looks down on his skin, its beautiful violet and then lilac tone, his nails hardened and darkened to a glossy black. Both Nott and Beau suck in a deep breath, eyes big and unbelieving.

“What the hell?” Beau bites out, taking a step back.

“I guess I should have mentioned before. I’m not human, Beau.” Molly simply says, lowering his hand with a shrug.

Before Nott or the squire can ask another question, he goes on.

“But! Meet Yasha. She’s a friend of mine, from the other side. The side of the fey.” He says, pointing over at her, waiting patiently in the background.

Chewing on his lower lip, Beau’s eyes are alight with rage and fire, the squire probably thinking back to last night, the little secrets Molly had let him in on but still kept another hidden.

“Fucking- “ Beau starts, but Nott hisses over him.

“The fey?! You are going to kill us!”

“No!” Molly groans, tense. This is not in any way how he thought this would turn out. But maybe he had been too eager for this.

“I just want to do my job as a knight of King Arthur and get that mage to Camelot. I- I promised you explanations, but later. Time is of the essence right now, before he can get away. Nott-“

The maid seizes up and Molly swallows down the bile that tries to rise in his throat.

“I’m sorry that you got involved in this. I’ll take you wherever you want to go after this, but I can’t leave you here on my own good conscience.”

He can almost see himself in her eyes as she looks over him, taking in all the strangeness, the horns, the tail and the sharp teeth. Her face darkens.

“You think I trust you now? After what you’ve been hiding all this time?” The maid grouses, taking a tiny step back.

Molly swallows, keeping himself from walking after her.

“Beau-“ He lets his reddening eyes wander over to the squire.

“I would have told you sooner or later, you are my squire.”

“Yeah, much obliged.” Beau bites out.

He turns around to Nott.

“Listen Nott, he’s an asshole." The squire starts. 

Molly looks over at Yasha, his friend just smiles at him smugly.

"But I also don’t want to just leave you here on your own. Come on, we've got an adventure to go on.”

With pleasant surprise writhing in his stomach, Molly smiles back at Yasha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be posted on the 25th of November :)


	21. Sir Leonhardt, also known as Mollymauk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Truths are revealed

“I guess I’m an asshole then.” He tells Yasha, who huffs a quiet laugh. Turning back to his squire, Molly crosses his arms in front of his chest.

“Anything else I can do to quench your thirst for wisdom?”

Beau looks him up and down.

“Why did you drag us here? Couldn’t you at least have told us something before throwing us right into the godsdamn feywild?”

Molly blinks, finding that this particular question he doesn’t want to answer with a snarky quip. Instead he wants this boy, this squire of his to understand that despite their rapid change of environment, Molly still cared about him.

“I- had my reasons. Fey are a myth, a veritable fairy tale over on the other side. I could hardly hope for a human to understand or believe without giving immediate proof.”

“Well, you were right. Sounds crazy still.” Beau gruffly comments. Waving the remark off, Molly just continues.

“As for why I dragged you here? You’re my squire and where I go, you go. That was my reasoning.” He says, attentively studying Beau’s reaction.

Blue eyes sparkle back at him.

“You’re an idiot, did anybody ever tell you that?”

“Oh, now you’re hurting my feelings.” Molly plays at nonchalance.

“You have feelings? Can you feel shame?” Beau shoots back, taking Nott’s hand off his belt as the maid had continued to tug on it until Beau’s trousers were uncomfortably low on his hips.

“Deep shame, it’s absolutely ripping me apart inside.” Molly continues, pitching his voice slightly.

Oh, he loves being himself again. Yasha just clicks her tongue behind him and he can practically feel her eyeroll.

“Stop being such an asshole.” The squire hisses back, righting his pants.

“Now, let’s all calm down a little.” Nott chimes in, laying a hand on Beau’s belt again.

“For now.” Beau says heatedly, straightening up to his full height.

Nott looks up at Molly as well, who has dropped his act and lets his eyes wander from his squire down to the maid and then up again.

“I was planning on telling you, Beau. Just not after only a few weeks of our first meeting.” He says, measured and calm.

“This affair with the mage, him vanishing from under my nose… This just unwarrantedly sped up the process and I can assure you that I’m a knight and you’re my squire and that we’re about to go after that bastard and bring him to Camelot as per Lord Belvedere’s request. You can trust me.”

Beau crosses his arms.

“And what is going to happen after that?”

Befuddled, Molly opens his arms, embracing the world around them with all its wonders.

“We ride through the country and I teach you? Guide you on the way to your knighthood.”

“So the good old knight and squire thing again, yeah?” The squire raises an eyebrow.

“And many good deeds to be done, I imagine.” Molly goes on, thinking that he’s won Beau over and might have yet again managed to settle his hot tempered squire.

“I’ll think about it. In the meantime, fuck you.” Beau says coolly, then nods over to where Yasha is waiting by the horses.

“So, do we go and find the mage now or don’t we?”

“Fine, you think about it, but let’s not waste more time.” Molly claps his hands.

“Come on over, Nott, you’re invited too. Wouldn’t leave you behind as I’ve come to regard you as my trusted travel companion.”

“I’ll keep an eye on you, Maurice.” Nott says, setting herself into motion.

“Fey beings are said to be very capricious in their natures. If you decide to kill me in my sleep I’ll slit your throat! But I trust you, for now!”

The threat falls flat, Molly just nodding along without much thought, just thankful that the maid had spoken in his favour.

“Thank you, Nott. Beau, see? I’m still the Maurice you know, just- a little bit lavender.” Molly says, plastering a reassuring smile to his face.

After another moment of silence Beau narrows his eyes.

“Fuck you, Maurice. Is that even your real name?” He asks, stabbing a finger into the air.

“I think that woman over there said something else- Mol-something.”

“Not sure what you’re talking about.”

“What was that about trust?”

“Oh for the Gods' sake-“ Molly grinds out, digging his claws into his hipbones.

“In for a penny, in for a pound. It’s Mollymauk, Molly to my friends. There, happy now?”

“I knew it!” Beau calls out, biting his lower lip with the victory in his eyes.

“You made a weird face when I named my horse! You have a horse name!”

“Wonderful, Gods you’re unpleasant sometime. What about your horse name?” Molly snarks back.

Eyeing him up and down, Beau just smirks, starting to walk past him towards Yasha.

“Yeah, whatever. I can live with it.”

Nott pockets her dagger and scampers off after Beau.

“I’m keeping an eye on you!” She hisses at Yasha as well, who looks down at the tiny woman with surprise.

Staring after his squire, Molly contemplates if he likes the new development between him and the boy. He kind of likes it, it’s better than the frightened Beau from last night, better than the meek Beau from a few weeks ago and definitely better than the apathetic and repressed Beau from when he had first laid eyes on the boy. Apparently, Molly had underestimated his squire massively. Shaking his head about himself, he walks towards Yasha.

“Molly…” She starts, her voice quiet but he winces a little, feeling a stern talking to coming towards him.

As he eyes her face, she narrows her eyes.

“Charming people, aren’t they? You’ll find it in yourself to love them yet, I just know you will.”

“They were both terrified. That one, that’s just a boy, right?”

“Beauregard? He’s my squire. But he already had a sufficient shock last night when he stumbled over me and an Érainn.”

“Molly, you didn’t-“

“Not like that, Yasha.” Molly laughs it off, rolling his solid eyes and slapping his tail on the ground to emphasize his point.

“Ah, it feels good to be able to do that again.” He grins, coiling his tail up to give it a pat.

Yasha rolls her eyes, shuffling one foot through the grass underneath their boots. Beau and Nott have reached Molli and Beau is currently helping Nott onto the saddle. The maid grouses about the boy touching her butt and they both get caught in an argument about how little Beau had wanted to touch Nott’s butt. Snorting, Molly laughs, patting Yasha on her biceps.

“Thanks for pulling us through, love.”

Yasha looks down on him.

“Speaking of which. Why did you have to call me to pass over?” Yasha asks, flicking his tail as it sneakily tries to wrap around her wrist.

Molly’s cheeks flush slightly with embarrassment.

“I might have… used the selkie water to help a poor soul to something to drink?”

As Yasha’s eyes darken he quickly lifts his hands.

“I didn’t notice until it was done and he was really thirsty, you know the knightly deeds, help those in need and so on, Yasha, dear.”

“You wasted the selkie water.” She calmly states.

“Out of the goodness of my heart-“

“And then you had to call for me to pull you through, alright.”

Yasha breathes in deep, looking at Molly and the way he’s ducking down a little, looking at least halfway apologetic. She stares him down till he flattens his ears and quietly apologizes.

“I’m sorry.”

Sighing, Yasha deflates. She can’t stay mad at him.

“You’re an idiot.”

“I know.”

She stares him down a little longer, letting him squirm.

“Alright, come here.” Yasha finally sighs and opens her arms.

With a gleeful expression Molly jumps into them, wrapping arms around her neck and his tail around her waist, getting pressed against her chest by both her muscular arms closing around him.

“I missed you, my charm. World’s not charming at all without you in it.” He mutters into her thick, dark mane, pressing a kiss to the side of her head.

“I missed you too.” She whispers, holding him up for another minute before setting him down on his feet again.

She pats him down with fluttering hands, righting his tunic and smiling softly.

“Did you manage to sort out your problems?”

“We’re about as right as rain, dear. Isn’t that the truth, Beau?” Molly grins and leers over his shoulder at his squire.

“Fuck you, Molly.” Beau answers, Yasha snickers quietly.

“Alright, it seems like it. So, what else did you need me for, Molly? Other than helping you come over.” She asks, shifting her weight to lean slightly forward.

“Do you still share your home with that nice tea fellow?” Molly wants to know.

“The one with the weird cemetery and ghost stories?”

“Yes, but he’s not home right now. He saw a bird fly by and wandered off after it.”

“Alright, that sounds like him. Just need to stick my nose between some pages. And after that we’ll go and hunt down a mage, you’re up for that?” Molly grins and walks over to his horse that stands next to Molli. Yasha feels a tiny surge of anticipation in her bones.

“Oh? What did he do?”

“Made Ser Mollymauk look like a fool.” Nott screeches, grinning from underneath Beau’s arm at Molly. Stubbornly, Molly laughs.

“I’m always ready to make a damn fool of myself, just so you know. Beau, you ready for some adventure?”

His squire looks at him with an unimpressed face but if he’s not absolutely mistaken there might be tiny a spark of interest in his blue eyes.

“Come on Beau.” Molly starts to tease him, he’s starting to really like it.

“I know you want to. Be a bit more enthusiastic, the more adventures the more lovelies you’ll be able to bed.” And he makes a lewd hand gesture that has Yasha turn away to not have a laughing fit.

A flush blooms on Beau’s cheeks and he splutters.

“Gross! What the fuck, man!” He fumes in his saddle.

“Fine, I’m down for an adventure.” Beau then tags on and Molly whips his tail from side to side mischievously.

”Good! Let’s read some books first!”

“What?!” Beau exclaims, Molly just turns with a grin.

Oh yes, he likes the new development a lot.

Snickering, Molly walks over to Bo, starting to rummage through the saddle bags.

“Let me just… aha!” And he pulls a bundle of deep maroon fabric from one bag, unfolding it to show a garish piece of clothing, multiple colours and patterns with golden thread embroideries glimmering in the sunlight.

He swings the coat into the air and slips into it with practiced ease, sighing as it settles around his shoulders and back as a welcome and long-missed weight.

“Wonderful. I feel so much more like myself. Well then! Off we go.”

They saddle up and ride, or in Yasha’s case, jog, towards the east. The fey world doesn’t look much different from the human world, there’s the sky and the ground, a sun rising over the horizon and green things growing out of the ground. Cautiously sticking to the paths that are safe, Molly and Yasha make sure that their human companions don’t risk getting to know the things that are entirely different from the human world. Like some trees that liked to chase you or the tiny stingerbees waiting behind the guise of beautiful flowers.

The forests they pass through are loud and lively, the air fresh but warm in contrast to the dawning autumn in the human world. Beau’s head turns from one side to the other, taking in all the wonderful things to be seen while Nott holds fast to his tunic, head buried in the folds of it like she’s afraid to look around but still taking peeks as curiosity gets the better of her. As a volley of bright orange birds flies over their heads and their calls sound like bells, Beau lets an excited laugh despite his stoic demeanor.

Their horses’ legs seem to just feed on the miles zipping away underneath their hooves, making good progress. The sun of the feywild is just about to grace the tips of some dark blue trees lining their path as they break out into an open field, a tiny cottage settled into high grass that sways in a gentle breeze. The cottage itself with its thatched roof and white walls looks a little like a waterdrop settled on a leaf, its walls curving outward. All around it wildflowers bloom, reaching as high as the windows set into the walls.Tall trees form a sort of circle around the field's perimeter, the travel group stopping just shy of passing between them. With a quiet signal, Yasha tells them to wait and walks over to the closest mammoth of a tree, leaning her forehead against it and whispering.

A charge of energy bristles through the air, then it's gone again, as fast as it came. Molly just grins down at his friend.

"Neat trick, Caduceus?"

Yasha smiles up at the fey knight.

"We both thought it would be best to have more wards around the house, especially after we relocated-" She stops herself, looking over to Beau. The squire quickly looks away but is clearly invested in what they are saying.

Nudging Bo back into a languid trot, Molly leads them into the field.

Yasha tells them to ride around the cottage and there she shows them where they can leave the horses, a tiny paddock adjacent to a rickety extension of the cottage's roof. The animals are all too happy to just graze and relax after the intense travel, snorting in the fresh air. A green backdoor opens with softly creaking hinges and Molly follows Yasha inside, Beau and Nott hesitating for a second. Then they nod towards each other and also enter the mysterious fey cottage, finding themselves in the kitchen.

Molly can practically see how much they wanted to inspect everything, starting from the crude floor boards, to the mismatched bowls on the table. Plants were crowding the windowsills and any other surface except the table, bright green beetles lazily walking or flying from plant to plant, carrying tiny dew drops on their legs. Nott’s eyes grow even bigger as she finds a coat hanging next to the door they just came through, its dimensions suggesting the owners large body. Sniffing around the air, Molly nods to himself.

“It still smells as weird as ever. Is he still doing this... grave stuff?” He asks taking off his cloak and hanging it besides the other on an empty hook.

Yasha nods, hanging her sword on another hook.

Nott turns her head in every direction, sampling the air as well.

“Smells like mold and earth. And flowers.” She decides, walking over to the fireplace to inspect the shiny copper pans and pots hanging there.

Knocking on the wooden door beam before walking further, Molly grins over his shoulder, catching everyone's attention.

“Yasha, please make sure our guests don’t get bitten by one of Caduceus’ pots.” Then he turns and leaves.

“What?!” Nott screeches behind him and one of said pots falls to the ground, rattling loudly.

“It’s just a normal pot.” Yasha quietly soothes the maid.

Molly has already turned to the left and walks through the small living room space. It’s crowded with armchairs, normal chairs, tiny swings hanging from the ceiling or large cushions laying on the floor gathered around a coffee table, cups in varying sizes and forms assembled on a tray. The walls are tinged in a calm, warm green, dark beams running across the ceiling and walls. The centerpiece undoubtedly is the large terrarium spanning the whole of a large window to the south, beetles upon beetles wandering along the foliage inside, glimmering in the sunlight. In between it all, tiny nick nacks and delicate flowers, curtesy of Yasha, spread their sweet fragrant in the air.

A gasp behind him tells the knight that his squire had elected to follow him.

Ducking underneath a low ceiling beam, and wondering not for the first time how Caduceus or Yasha managed to not hit their heads every time, Molly crosses the room and opens a blue door. Behind it the air temperature suddenly drops and stairs lead down into the dark. The walls transition from stones to soil, roots and tiny worms creeping along the dug up surface and the air is dense with a mineral odor.

“Well then.” Molly says, looking back at Beau, who stands a few feet away, looking eager but also a little unsure.

“Unfortunately you can’t come along any further, Beau.”

“But-“

“No but. I’ll be back in a few hours, don’t give Yasha a headache. Maybe cook something for dinner. Knight's orders to his squire.”

And with that Molly unsheathes his sword, slightly pricking his finger on its edge. As soon as the drop of blood touches the surface, a radiant light blooms from the sword's depth. Beau stands there, fists clenched and jaw tense, staring at the glowing sword.

"Beau?"

The squire jumps, then nods.

"See ya."

Molly winks and closes the door behind him, throwing a last glance at Beau. Ignoring the queasy feeling welling up in his stomach as the darkness around him trails soft fingers down his neck, Molly lifts the sword above his head and walks down into the earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be posted on the 2nd of December :)


	22. Flour, Milk and Honey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update! University owns my ass at the moment :)  
> New actors enter the stage...

Mud, as a substance, will stick to anything it can and not let go until it falls off dry.

Boots, the hem of trousers, hooves of course, leaves, leather, glass... and if it could stick to the air it would. Caleb contemplates that maybe it does, his nose filled with the smell of damp earth and something foul, the sounds around him mixed with the squelching noise from underneath Basil's hooves. It’s cold, the foliage browning and the sky clear as Basil trots on, a breeze ruffling through his cream coloured mane. Far from the roads well-travelled, they fight their way through the underbrush and trees, riding along the outside of clearings and slipping away into the shadows again, following the line Caleb had navigated during the night.

His keen mind keeps telling him which way to turn the horse after they had to go around an obstacle. When they had come upon this rewetting soil, fed from groundwater close to the surface, Caleb had gritted his teeth and tried to steer them around it, but it had just stretched on and on, the trees rotting around their roots and mud everywhere, interspersed with little plots of waterloving grasses. Mud was everywhere he looked.

It was even in Caleb’s face by now, he’d tripped after relieving himself and hadn't that been something he would have loved to not experience. He shivers at the thought of how the rotten leaves and twigs inside the wet earth had felt between his fingers. The bread he holds still tastes good though, despite the mud cakeing his hands. Still, he needs to find somewhere to safely turn back to Frumpkin, the sun is nearing three hours past sunrise and Basil was still stuck fighting his way through watered up earth. It is a pitiful thing that he has no spell for a situation like that, like freeze the ground or just levitate the whole horse. He could do the latter, but for how long would he have to uphold that spell? There were durations for each and he can’t safely estimate how much further the marsh was stretching. Instead, Caleb starts looking even more intently for some kind of island, somewhere where a group of trees might have compacted the soil or rocks were close to the surface. He'd take anything by now, already going over the wards to place.

Basil nickers and sweat is building on his furr, Caleb leans down to amicable pet him.

"Almost through, I'm sure." He tells the horse.

Uncharacteristically optimistic of himself, Caleb thinks and swallows the last bite. At least the rations he'd organized through Maggie were absolutely worth the money, he'd even found a sausage in the package.

About half an hour later, Basil snorts and steps onto something, his hooves starting to clack like on stone and Caleb sighs in relief but stays tense, this might only be a short happiness. Leaning down over the horse’s neck, Caleb inspects the ground. Either they found a large rock or it might be something manmade and hopefully much bigger. Carefully nudging Basil forward, the clacking goes on and on, and Caleb feels his heart soar, they found an old stone path, hidden away under the slush and leaf litter. Getting out of the ankle deep mud has Basil throw his head happily and Caleb strokes his fur in celebration. Now they only needed to get out of here and find a place he could set up camp in, make sure Frumpkin wouldn’t go wandering off with their body.

Only two more days, then he’ll separate himself form his cat and the next day he would finally get to take his leave. He doesn’t think of the infinite ways that it might fail, not yet. Only if it would become apparent.

The stone path leads them deeper into the trees, then curls towards the South, but Caleb doesn’t want to correct their course just yet, he’s rather looking out for shelter. And there might be the bigger chance of finding shelter while following the road, so he accepts them deviating from their course. His eyes skim over flowers blooming in the water-mud mixture, he glances over fallen trees and grass. They trot along and the ground around the path seems to become drier, more solid as the trees start to look more and more healthy. Quietly, Caleb thinks to himself that it might be somebody wanted to make a path through the woods but then got stopped by the marsh behind them. If so he thinks they're very lucky to have found it.

His eyes almost miss the hulking shadow between three trees, something that looks like a heap of wood, desolate and windswept as it leans against two of the trees. The closer Basil comes to it, the more details become visible and there is a door set into a wall, crooked and moldy, windows spanned with leather and a chimney that looks close to falling over. But it also looks like there is room inside, possibly even dry from the rain. And then it’s a house, a tiny hut in the forest, roof mossy and steep. Squinting his eyes, Caleb takes another look. He must have not seen right from the distance, damn his eyes. They’ve really become bad after years of reading by candle light. The hut looks stable and it’s quiet around them.

There are no signs on its outside of intrusion or wildlife claiming it as their home, so it might be perfect for a runaway mage, his cat and his horse.

As Basils comes to a halt in front of it, Caleb carefully slides out of his saddle and sneaks over to the single window, pushing the leather aside to look through the opening. It’s dark inside, it smells of cold and absence. In the thin streak of light falling over the interior, he can see floorboards, a chair and a table, the glimmer of pots on shelves. All of them dry and without moss or mold growing on them. Caleb was feeling a deep thankfulness for whoever had built this hut and he gingerly opened the door, stepping inside.

It was everything he had hoped for, dry and already warmer than outside, a fireplace with a stack of wood next to it just waiting for the mage to set flames and bathe his hands in warm gold. The chair and table turn out to be very crudely bound together by yarn or stuck together by wood carving. Despite the sturdy looks of the hut, the furniture doesn't inspire much trust in Caleb. He chooses to rather sit on the floor than sit on any of it, he just wants to have a safe spot to have his travel break and then be off again, not destroy any of what this person has made for their personal safe haven. Looking around, Caleb determines that this might be the temporary home of a woodcutter, whicht might explain that the person was much better at working large pieces of wood to build a hut rather than smaller ones for furniture.

The first thing Caleb does is throwing wood into the fireplace and laying his hand on it, pushing his energy fiercely through the structure to force sparks and smoke until the first flames hiss under his palm, licking up between his fingers. If a tear slides down his face, no one knows, but anybody can see his shoulders slump as he finally lets his tensions go. For minutes, Caleb just stares into the fire, concentrating rather on the embers than on the flames themselves while his joints stop aching and his hands regain feeling again.

After warming himself up again, Caleb goes and binds Basil to a tree, making sure a patch of grass and dry earth is nearby. Walking around the hut he looks for maybe a low stone wall or a wooden frame, spying one not too far off in the distance. He could cry as his eyes fall on the simple well, pulling a bucket with holes from it and carrying over to Basil. Caleb makes the trip twice, then he drags his packs inside, settling them next to the thin straw mattress situated in a corner of the hut. Sitting down and leaning back against the wall, Caleb closes his eyes, the smell of woodsmoke and the sound of crackling fire and soflty swaying trees around him have him hum quietly, finally relaxing with his legs stretched out in front him.

He’s away from Camelot, from his teacher, away from the knight and can finally decide his own fate. It isn’t important that his face is dirty, his hair unkempt and beard growing patchy, everything covered in mud. This is better than a lot he’d had during the last years.

Before his eyes can fall closed, Caleb forces himself to set his wards, making sure Frumpkin won’t be able to jump out the window and that nobody would be able to come in. Then he just falls face first onto the straw mattress, pulling his coat tighter around his frame and curls into a ball, breath shaky with restrained happiness. His last thought is that he needs to read up on the Mollymauk, make sure he’s prepared for whatever this fey might be capable of, but then he’s already asleep.

\---------------

The next moment he is himself again and opens his eyes as Caleb, he stares into the face of a woman with huge grey eyes, held in her arms. And he’s naked. Both cry out and Caleb scrambles away, noticing a burly man in the other corner of the hut and, in a frantic need to just do something, he throws his hands out, fire licking over his palms. The man swears, hand on a rusty sword by his side, the woman jumping up from where she’d sat on the floor next to the mattress and holds her hands out as well, in the direction of her companion.

“Fjord, wait!”

“Get away from it Jester, I knew this was a bad idea.”

“But-“

“It's a godsdamn fey, probably best to kill it before it kills us-“

Their exchange is frantic and quick, Caleb feeling his heartbeat grow faster and faster as the fear in his veins sears through him, screaming for him to save himself. He raises his hands higher, the energy sitting at his palms bubbling out and sputtering, sparks and molten flames dripping on the floor, the man pulls his sword and makes a large step towards Caleb on the floor-

“ _NO!!!_ ” The woman, screams, and if Caleb wouldn’t know better the whole hut seems to shake with it, dust falling down on their heads.

The man immediately stops and Caleb's focused energy fades in shock. They both stare at each other and breathe, muscles tense.

"Please." The woman pleads, her desperate voice shaking the man out of his focus on Caleb.

“Jes-“ He says, angling himself towards her and Caleb feels like he can breathe a little lighter now.

“He’s just as scared as we are! Let’s talk!” The woman argues.

As she was also speaking in his favour, Caleb softly clears his throat and decides to side with her.

“Uh- uhm, I’d like that too, to not be killed. And to uhm- maybe cover myself.”

"Jester-" The man starts, clearly wanting to pursuade her but she just narrows her eyes at him and pushes her shoulders back, chin forward in defiance.

It develops into a stare down between the woman and her companion, then the man just huffs and turns around to glower into the flames in the fireplace.

"Not my funeral." He grumbles.

Turning back to Caleb, the woman smiles. Reflexively, Caleb crosses his legs to hide his private area, one hand coming up to lay over his chest. Despite the fire roaring, he shivers as those grey eyes skim over him once. He cringes as he remembers that the scars on his lower arms are on full display, pushing the haze of memory down. The woman is speaking.

“I'm very sorry for Fjord!" She starts, staying where she is but Caleb can feel bubbly aura radiating off her form.

"Hello, my name is Jester. Very happy to meet you!” She holds a hand out to him and Caleb quickly shakes the flames out, taking her hand.

As Jester cocks her head, he shakes himself out of his stupor.

“C-C-Caleb Widogast. Uhm- what are you doing here?”

Her eyes lighting up, Jester tightens the grip around his hand and Caleb winces.

“We heard a kitty from outside and then broke in.” She just says, like they did not just dismantle Caleb's well-thought out wards and spells.

The mage only narrowly reigns himself in from staring at her in disbelief. And damn Frumpkin for causing him trouble, again.

“Oh.”

“You’re a very cute kitty, Caleb.” Jester compliments him and he's not sure how to react to that.

“Thank you?” It's never wrong to be polite.

“Let him put on some clothes, Jester.” The man groans, his back still turned towards them.

Jester pouts a little, then claps both hands over her eyes.

“I’m not looking Caleb, just put your clothes back on before Fjord dies from blushing too much.”

“I’m not-“

They argue on, a friendly undertone and teasing now prominent. Caleb quickly grabs his tunic and trousers from the mattress, pulling them on and then settling his coat around his shoulder, pulling his two pairs of socks over his feet and then putting his boots back on. He needs to get out of here, Frumpkin has had his fun and now it’s time for him to be moving again. And it was probably best to get away from these strangers, the less people knew about him and where he is the better.

Throwing his packs over his shoulder, Caleb suppresses a wince as one of the books digs an edge between his shoulders. Caleb turns to leave.

“Hold on, where d’you think you’re going?” Fjord asks behind him, Jester making a tiny sound of disappointment.

“It’s dark out and we were just about to make dinner, stay with us Caleb!”

Turning back slowly, Caleb stares at her, then swallows.

“I’m very sorry, but I can’t. It was nice-” He says quickly, garbling the words in his rush. A hand finds his elbow and he jerks back, looking down at Jester as she tightens her grip to an extent he did not expect.

“But it’s really cold outside and I wanted to make pancakes with honey. Though I have no eggs, not sure if you can call them pancakes then-” She says, pouting a little with a frown.

There’s a glimmer in her eyes as she forms the word honey. The familiar tug inside his bones makes Caleb perk up at the mention of honey. He looks at Jester again, weary. She just winks at him.

“So?” Jester asks, loosening her hand a little.

"We also have milk."

With his ears burning, Caleb just nods, feeling a warmth rise in his stomach.

“Good, I’ll stay.” He stutters.

Jester cheers and hurries over to where she and Fjord had put their bags, Caleb feeling a little left alone standing by the door. He slowly goes over to the table and puts his packs underneath it. As he turns around, Jester thrust a wooden bowl into his hand. Her arms are filled with two pots and a waxed sack, a wooden spoon sticking up behind her ear.

“It’s a recipe from my momma, you’ll love it!”

She opens the pots and throws flour into the bowl, pulling the smaller one open and spooning honey into the mixture, rich and golden and Caleb just so holds himself back from sticking his finger into it, his mother’s heritage humming happily at the sight of it alone. Then Jester presses the waxed sack in his hand and he pulls the draw string open after a moment of confusion and there’s milk inside, he might just faint from how much he loves the sight of it.

Fjord looms behind Jester like a shadow, scrubbing a pot clean they had probably found on the wall. Hanging it on a hook over the fire, he ruffles through his own pack and produces a slab of fat, wrapped in wax paper. With a sharp knife, he cuts some off and throws it in the pot, the sizzling sound and smell wafting over to where Jester is busy stirring the mixture. Her eyes keep looking up at Caleb, who leans back as she moves closer.

“So, what brings you here?” She asks quietly.

“I’m sorry?” Caleb responds, rubbing his fingertips together nervously. At least Frumpkin got rid of the mud.

“You’re a fey like me. It's very nice to meet someone like me, since I left I haven't and that made me really unhappy."

Caleb's eyes grow big and he just wants to shush her, frightfully looking over to the man who'd only minutes ago threatened to kill Caleb for only suspecting he might be a fey.

"Uhm- Jester maybe-"

She just talks over him.

"I’m here because I wanted to see the other side. What are you doing here? And why are your clothes so dirty and why are you a cat sometimes?”

Chocking on his own spit, Caleb looks everywhere except at Jester.

“Jester, the pan’s ready.” Fjord says and the woman nods at Caleb with a promise of later in her eyes, hopping over to him.

“Here you go, Fjord!”

Fjord's dark eyes glimmer as he looks over to Caleb, and the mage does not feel very comfortable in his skin at the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is *scheduled* for 9th of December :D


	23. An Evening spent in Company

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three silhouettes sit huddled together at the table of a tiny hut in the woods...

The pancakes were gone within minutes, hot and sizzling and so delicious that Caleb is feeling a smile creep up on him in the aftermath of just settling down, feeling warm and full. It's not a big smile that would light up the tiny hut, it’s just a softening of his facial features and the slight upturn of the corners of his eyes. Jester looks at him, her head cocked and she's grinning from one ear to the other.

Despite the smile's subtle nature she must have caught on to it, looking pleased with herself, toes wiggling under the table where she’s discarded her leather shoes. Oddly thin foot wear for almost winter... and doesn’t she have cold feet?

“They were delicious, right?” She asks, shaking Caleb out of his contemplations.

Caleb nods, looking at his empty hands, still feeling the phantom texture of fluffy dough with honey, warmth seeping through his skin. He calmly lays his palms flat on the rough table surface, enjoying the coarse texture.

“Your mother’s recipe… right?”

“You remembered! Yes, my momma’s , she the best!”

Excitedly bouncing on the rickety chair, Jester turns to address Fjord, who has leaned back in his seat and seems to be dozing.

“Fjord, are you sleeping?”

“Just resting my eyes.” He grumbles, hands settled atop of his stomach.

“You liked the pancakes too, right?”

He nods without opening his eyes.

“Very delicious, I still wonder how you manage to have stuff like honey and milk with in any forsaken place.”

Eyes twinkling, Jester doesn’t say much, just smiles.

Following the thought and maybe taking it a little further, Caleb glances over to Jester’s pack, hanging from a hook by the door. Does it look remotely pinkish? Maybe it's enchanted-

“A lady has to have her secrets.” Jester amicably trills, leaning back over to Caleb and pulling him from his thoughts.

“Do you have secrets as well, Caleb?”

Despite her question being too nosey for his tastes, Caleb fights his facial muscles to not let them pull his mouth into a larger smile. This woman- or was she still a girl? It’s hard for him to estimate her age, her cheerfulness and bouncy youth contrasted by an interesting amount of insightfulness in her eyes. This person, Jester, makes him feel welcome in her company and he feels playful.

Like he would back when he was young and teasing the neighbours' kids until their parents would laugh with a broom poised and mock-shooing him away for being a changeling, a puck. Well...

“Of course.” Caleb whispers, glancing at Jester from the corner of his eye.

Fjord also peeks an eye open, Caleb notices.

“But they are, as you just said yourself, secrets. So unfortunately I can’t tell you any of it.”

“What? But Caleb!” Jester protests, scooting her chair closer.

“You can whisper them in my ear! If Fjord doesn’t know them, they’re still secrets.”

“Won’t you tell him as soon as I don’t look?” Caleb narrows his eyes, leaning slightly back as Jester keeps on invading his space.

“Never would I do that, you have my word as a fellow-“

Caleb lightly nudges her underneath the table and in the last second, Jester pouts and takes a different turn.

“As a fellow Irishwoman, of course.”

“I was wondering where that accent came from. My bet was on somewhere more northern.” Fjord joins in, leaning back again but his eyes stay sharp and very much open this time.

“No worries, Fjord! As soon as you meet my momma, you’ll see that she talks like me, living in Ireland!” Jester smiles.

“I've heard many accents in my life, because where I come from is a place where a lot of people travel to and leave again, many many different people.”

“Oh, so it’s a port town?” The man asks and Jester nods enthusiastically.

“A port town!”

Then her attention hones back in on Caleb and if he sees a shimmer of violet in her eyes, it’s gone as fast as it had appeared and he's not sure the next second if it had really been there. He’s starting to wonder about Jester. He should have spent more time on trying to figure her out before succumbing to the lure of milk and honey.

“So, where is your kitty right now?” Jester wants to know, looking around the hut like Frumpkin could be hiding under the table.

“Uh- well…” Caleb trails off, tapping his foot.

“It’s ah... a bit difficult.”

Jester gasps, he wiggling somehow intensifying.

“Are you cursed? To be a cat sometimes? Like the stories about witches and wizards and trees?”

Jester’s eyes are big with excitement. Eyeing her with renewed interest, he tries to make a connection with any type of fey he knows there are and what Jester might be.

“Something like that.” He just says, leaving her to the conclusions she made while he ponders.

“I’m trying to find a remedy.”

Cooing, Jester turns to Fjord. Tapping a finger against his lower lip, Caleb starts cataloguing.

She seems to be a benevolent sort, giving her food away freely to share with other travellers, and it seems she’s been on this journey with Fjord as her companion for some time. Deciding to change the subject, Caleb asks her about how long she and Fjord have been travelling together.

Clearing his throat, Fjord taps his fingers over his collarbone in thought.

“Must have been a moon and a half by now? We met near the Scottish border.”

“My momma had sent me by boat to Scotland, so I could journey from the tip of the island down to the south and then come back to her after my journey.” Jester puffs her chest out, proud of her parent to provide her with such an opportunity.

“All alone?”

Caleb feels he shouldn’t prod in the business of this fey, but he can’t help himself.

“Oh, I met friends on the road, we travelled together. But then I met Fjord and decided to accompany him to the South, he’s a respectable gentleman.” She smiles.

“Son of a cobbler, hardly a gentleman.” Fjord laughs, his cheeks tinged a tiny bit rosy at Jesters compliment.

“So, to the South then?” Caleb inquires further, scratching a nail over the wood.

“Yes, Fjord wants to find a tutor in London, he wants to learn reading and writing and learn loads of things! Like a mage! And I'll come with im to see London! Everybody says it's big and stinky.” She laughs.

"And then Fjord can come and visit my momma with me!"

Quickly, Caleb’s eyes snap over to Fjord, who holds up a hand to stop Jester in her enthusiasm.

“I think you're getting a little ahead there, Jester. I only got a letter of recommendation from my old school teacher, saying that I have a halfway decent head on my shoulders, we’ll see if they’ll take me-”

“Oh, I know they will! And maybe they’ll be able to help you too, Caleb! With your cat thing.” Jester talks over Fjord, her hand landing on Caleb’s arm.

He pulls hit away on reflex, shocked at how cold her touch feels.

Schooling his expression back into a neutral façade, Caleb points his finger out the window, eager on pushing the focus off his problems.

“Uhm- then maybe you should adjust to travel more to the East, you’ve slightly come off course.”

He ignores Jester’s further pleas to travel with them to find a way to solve his ‘kitty business’.

They chat away the remainder of the evening, then as it’s time to bed down Caleb and Fjord decide to let Jester take the mattress. Opting to seclude himself into a corner of the hut, Caleb pulls his packs close to himself.

Now that the fire has burnt low and the joyful atmosphere has dissipated into silence, he feels distrust for these travellers creep up on him again. It breathes coolly down his neck and makes him want to pull his knees to his chest, staring into the darkness at the two motionless silhouettes sleeping. Squeezing his eyes shut for a few seconds, Caleb centres himself and lets a tiny mote of light float from his palm, pushing the shadows lapping at his calves away. As he supposes that sleep won’t find him anytime soon, he rummages through his pack, pulling out his research tome, more books, feather and ink.

He lays his constellation map out, settling the map of Britain next to it and looks out the window at the night sky, calculating his current position with sure strokes of the feather over paper, letting the red ink bleed into the parchment fibres. Juggling numbers, angles and coordinates, he works to find one specific location.

On a full moon, two nights bathed in the silvery light of Her, he won’t revert back into Frumpkin during the day, giving him more valuable time to find the spot, set up his ritual and secure the perimeter for nobody to disturb him.

Rereading in his books, fingers trailing over old and dry paper, Caleb bites at his lips until the skin is raw and nearly broken, swollen and red. There are enough indicators throughout the history of Britannia and on the map rolled out in front of him to point him in the right direction to find one of the points where the ley lines meet, a point so saturated with energy from both the fey lands and this side that the barriers are wearing thin. Like a parchment, read and well loved until it’s almost see-through and soft to the touch, the moonlight will tear through it with needle precision, an inherently feyish light with energy seeping into the deepest roots of the human world.

And as both sides push and pull with the energy during a full moon, an entrance would open and grant entrance to the other side, for anybody fortunate enough to find one.

The number of lines crossing makes it more likely for a gate to open, but it’s no guarantee. Caleb having accepted the call from Lord Belvedere purely out of his hope that this crossing of eight lines close to the castle would suffice and grant him passage.

It had been on the decline of the last full moon, Caleb still being human long enough on the road and in the castle to not arouse suspicions and he’d hoped that the staff would leave an antisocial, brooding wizard alone in his chambers if he didn't come out by himself. Maybe he should have threatened to turn them into frogs or something...

He sighs, thinking back to how simple his plan had been. Set up residence in Lord Belvedere’s castle, wait out the time until he was back in charge from Frumpkin taking over during new moon and the days following until first half, then calculate and let Lord Belvedere grant him four days to leave the castle on research. Just to never return.

But of course they had found Frumpkin in his stead, had made a huge upheaval about it and even got a knight to take him away. Away from the eight line crossing. And it had had to be the Mollymauk of all things!

Ruffling his dark ginger hair in frustration with one hand, Caleb drags his other hand over the map. He’d been able to make good headway until the damn marsh, and the Mollymauk obviously had not been very eager on getting him to Camelot, indulging in capriciously curling paths. It is probably his nature as a fey to be fickle and not really caring about what the humans demand from him, doing his job but still pulling his own amusement from it at the same time. It was turning out to be better for Caleb, seeing that his destination was just barely within reach.

Keeping that in mind, Caleb leans back and looks up at the dark ceiling of the hut.

The last glimpse he’d gotten from the Mollymauk, that had been something. It had felt like an angry dog snarling and snapping it’s teeth close to his neck, only for Caleb to be quick enough to pull away, just so avoiding being bitten. The fey knight would have succeeded in catching him, had those human guards not been determined enough to salvage their own pride and hold up any further transgressions. The first hours had been filled with dread, waiting for the fey to manifest out of thin air as the stories hinted at... But it never happened and Caleb had stopped wasting his energy on worrying for the moment. 

He can't help but wonder if he’ll ever see the Mollymauk again, it would be very fascinating to ask him all the questions Caleb had held back, on those evenings they had sat together. The knight had made for a fairly nice conversation partner, being respectful of Caleb as he had assumed his mother’s form, making clear that his alliances were with the fey. It sparks a little bit of hope in Caleb. Maybe on their next meeting, the Mollymauk wouldn't just throw him down and tie him up like a present for Trent. That maybe with his fey heritage, he could broker a kind of deal from the knight.

Two more days, that’s all that is left for him until the first day of the full moon starts, and he needs to separate himself from Frumpkin before that.

Caleb swallows, pushing his books back into his pack, rummaging around for one of the carrots from his rations and stands with creaking knees. He bites back a wince, then pulls his coat tighter around his frame, settling the heavy packs on his shoulders and sneaks out of the tiny hut, the floor boards only creaking softly as he tip toes past Jester and Fjord.

Outside it’s frightfully cold as autumn is starting to lose its grip and winter looms over the landscape with a malicious grin. Breath fogging into clouds, Caleb softly nudges Basil awake, combing his fingers through the horses short but thick fur. He misses having Frumpkin to pet and it’s grating on his nerves, but it will only be a day or a day and a half more. Hopefully.

Pulling the leather straps to fasten the packs tighter and adjusting the fit of Basil’s saddle, Caleb swings himself up and groans with the stress it puts on his scholar shoulders.

Settled, he looks up at the starry sky and waits for two clouds to pass from view, then angles his fingers again, making Basil start walking forward into the dark forest ahead of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter scheduled to go up on December 16th :)


	24. Calm before the Storm

Yasha watches Beau as she throws the carrots into the boiling water. The squire can feel her mismatched gaze like pressure agains the back of her head. Beau calms herself to act suave and not drop the carrots anywhere else than the pot. Maybe the woman is disapproving of her cooking skills, would have liked to see the carrots be diced up a little bit more neatly and not so crudely. At least they are washed, Beau thinks and turns around to look at Nott. The maid is damn quick with her knives, peeling and cutting potatoes with precision, slicing them up into even chunks and mincing the herbs swiftly. Beau feels herself reaching an entirely new understanding of Nott’s affinity to knives, daggers and any other pointy things in her repertoire.

Beau is not a cook and she doubts she’ll ever be, due to the lack of motivation. If it tastes good enough to eat and not spit it out again, that is alright with her. Eating was a necessity to make the body move forward and even if it was quite nice to sometimes have a nice meal, Beau reserved the feat of cooking it for someone else to achieve.

Turning away from the stove, she glances over the ingredients, but it seems that all of it is taken care of and their stew for dinner is well on its way.

Behind her there is the sound of water. Out of the corner of her eyes, Beau sees Yasha fish the carrots out and lays them on a cutting board with a knife in her hand that is dwarfed in comparison to the sword hanging next to the door. The woman herself is also huge and muscular, smoking hot in Beau’s unvoiced opinion, and gentle in her way of handling Maurice. Or Mollymauk, or whatever his damn name was now.

Trailing her eyes further down the hulking figure, Beau takes in the scars on her arms that suggest Yasha wasn’t always gentle and Beau was still cataloguing what this information was doing to her. As Yasha moves, the smell of wildflowers wafts through the air and Beau suddenly becomes self-conscious of herself, thinking back to the bath she had planned to take the evening as the mage escaped. It had gone cold unused after their hasty depart and then in the Red Donkey inn they had just fallen into their beds and risen with the first light of the sun.

The squire sniffs herself unnoticed, wincing at her own body odour.

“Uhm- Is there anywhere I could wash up?” She asks in Yasha’s direction.

Stopping her cutting, a blue eye becomes visible as Yasha looks over her shoulder.

“Oh, uhm- yeah. Just take the second door on the left and head straight through.”

Nott walks past Beau with her potatoes, eyes twinkling as they meet with Beau’s.

“Good decision, I was close to saying something, boy.” The maid grins up at her and Beau just offers her a rude hand gesture.

“It’s a manly smell.” Beau comments gruffly, ignoring Nott’s further barbs and walking down the hallway.

She stalks through a smaller corridor, floor still the same creaky wood but the walls are blue with white flowers painted on them, the ceiling low and made from dark wood. Three tiny windows let light flood in from the right wall, a door in between the second and third. The door at the end of the corridor opens into a room with rounded walls and ceiling, a wooden tub jammed into one corner, a plate with soaps balancing on the rim. There are tiny fragments of flowers pressed into them, probably made by Yasha herself, Beau imagines.

Beau closes the door, looks around for a way to make sure she would not be disturbed during her bath and, in the end, she assembles her staff to wedge it between floor and door.

Above the tub, a spout extends from the wall and next to it is what looks like a very rusty lever. Pushing and pulling on the wood, water starts to splutter and fall into the tub, filling it up slowly but steadily. Sweating even more than before, Beau wipes her brow. She looks around for something to leave her clothes on, but then just throws them on the ground, hissing as the bandages peel off her breasts. Must be that time of the month soon, she thinks, glaring down at them for being tender and sensitive. Now she just needs to figure out how to get into the tub, because either there is a stool or a crate she just hasn’t seen yet, or she’s expected to just climb over the rim of it. Was everyone in the fey wilds a fricking giant? Huffing and with as much grace as possible, using her well-muscled arms and back, Beau hoists herself up and into the cold water, yelping as it swallows her.

Godsdamn, she could have had a warm bath. Damn Maurice Mollymauk, Sir Leonfart of the Stinky Lake.

After five minutes of shivering she is used to them temperature and starts to wash herself. The water becomes murky and cloudy with each swipe of the soap over Beau's skin and with it she washes away the irritation and frustration she's been feeling for the past days, pressing her lips together in thought. Maurice hadn't abandoned them in Bedwyn, had not hurt them in the fey wild and it seemed he was intent on taking them along on his hunt for the mage. 

And he said he wanted to continue being her knight, something she was more relieved to hear than she would ever openly say.

Staring down at her own little secret, Beau decides that she'll take Maurice at face value, for now. Go along for as long as he was useful to her and then... She'll think about what to do when the time would come.

\----------------

Sneezing and scratching behind his horns, Molly browses through his fifth book, narrowing his eyes at the spidery hand script of one of his predecessors, quill poised above a parchment he has been narrowly scribbling on. His sword is settled against the wall in front of him, the desk he’s hunching over pushed up against it.

The soft silver light makes the parchment look younger than it is. It’s not the right time period for what he wants to research but he’ll be damned if he would leave any stone unturned or miss the start of anything connected to the incidents of the vanishing feys. Anything and everything. When did any fey start to go missing in a way that it would rouse suspicions pointing towards humans? On both sides, individuals vanished and never came back, but something sets these relatively recent incidents apart from those before.

The way it had happened, what was left behind or rather, the lack thereof.

Homesteads destroyed, family members killed or abducted alongside the missing members of the fey wild, wildly random choices of fey too. There had been the Willowgast sure enough, the home she had made together with her human spouse burned down to the ground and any other relations gone. Then there was an incident not too far from that one town, the predecessor before Molly had been called upon by a lamenting banshee, visiting her homestead to warn them of an impending death in their family, only to find the whole family gone and the house razed to the ground to some black sludge. And there had been at least four more of these strange happenings, too quick for any of those before him to notice.

Irritated, Molly kicks his foot against the stomped ground, disturbing dusts and a spray of earth into the air. He’d been so unbelievably neglecting of it, the incidents had stopped an no further harm had appeared to have come of it that his predecessor and then he himself had gotten wrapped up in more immediate business than trying to find what had been happening at that time.

He remembers when he’d been pushed into his role and they’d laid out in front of him what his duties were, how to achieve them and how far his powers and abilities would reach within the fey wilds and the human world. It’s nothing more than a blur, he’d been barely lucid back then, aching and mute and blinking into the grim faces of those that had pulled him from his-

Molly slaps the book shut, shuddering in the eerie warmth of the underground archive Yasha and her housemate had built. Only Yasha knew how little he still remembered. How fervently he had depended on her guidance, gentle and caring until he could finally grasp what was expected of him. The knight drags both hands through his hair, knocking against his horns. He laughs, doing it again and this time deftly avoids them, sucking in a deep breath to calm himself.

Clearing his throat, he starts to speak into the quiet.

“I’m alright, I’m Molly. I’m not Lucien anymore, he was an asshole and he died in that grave.”

Feeling tears bubbling into his eyes, Molly goes on.

“I’m Molly, I'm alright and there is a reason that I’m here. I’m not a Sluagh.” He rattles a breath into his lungs and clenches his jaw. Sluagh, a hateful word. They are vengeful spirits of dead men, unable to move on after their death as they were rejected by any deity. Evil people, horrible and cruel. The word Sluagh had been branded into Molly’s skin during his first wakeful days, leaving him with an ugly scar only he could see. At least, he’d been presented with a chance to atone, as he wasn’t that horrible person anymore, Lucien was gone and Mollymauk was an entirely new being! It just so happened that the name was attached to quite the heavy reputation, but of course, Molly wouldn't have it any other way.

He loves a challenge.

Rubbing the tears away, Molly draws another breath and continues, voice stronger this time.

“I’m a knight of the fey, to protect them and to help them, to keep the balance between the fey wilds and the world of humans. I’m alright, I’m alive and I’m me.”

Silence answers him. With renewed fervour, Molly leans over the dusty books, and his eyes don’t leave the pages until Yasha comes down to fetch him for dinner.

Her hand is big and warm on his shoulder, a light tingle of electricity passing through him.

“Molly?”

Blinking up at her, he smiles broadly.

“I’m almost done, you can start without me, darling. I’m sure Beau and Nott must be very hungry.”

Yasha nods, her eyes wandering to the crinkled pages and the two broken quills laying next to Molly’s ink stained hand.

“They are. And you’ve done enough for today. Your eyes will go bad.”

He looks at her again, this time trying to decipher the expression of her face. Reserved, unsettled… apologetic? Laying his hand over Yasha’s, Molly leans back and lets his shoulder rest against her hip.

“Thank you.” He says quietly.

“I’m sorry for messing up and dragging you into this.”

Yasha just sighs.

Jostling him lightly, she wraps her arms around his shoulders and pulls him back against her chest, wild camomile and elderflower enveloping him with her warmth. He knows that his horn must be poking her in the neck or under the jaw but her grip is firm and secure, making his heart flutter with warmth.

“Molly- it’s okay. I’m not mad at you. Anybody can get in over their head and from what I gather, you thought the quest was simpler than it really was. I'll help you anytime.”

“I think I was doing splendidly.” Molly sniffs, a tiny smile on his face.

“Of course. Until you named the cat Ginger and forgot that it was in fact a mage.”

Pulling him out of his seat, Yasha points towards the sword and starts walking over to the stairs leading up to fresh air and sunlight.

“Your squire- he’s impatient.” She says, looking over her shoulder to make sure Molly is following her.

“Is he now? That boy is very unpleasant at times.” Molly groans, but grins as Yasha looks at him.

“Just- maybe tell him?”

“Tell him what?”

“The truth.”

"All of it?"

Halting in her step, Yasha hums. Molly stops behind her, sheathing his sword as the door is only three more steps away from them.

"He should be able to trust his knight."

"I'll try my best." Molly says lightly into the darkness.

Yasha starts walking again, opens the door and steps out into the sitting room, flooded with gold-red sunlight, tiny fireflies now having overtaken the spaces between the ceiling beams as the other bugs and beetles have settled down to sleep.

Nott and Beau are sitting around the kitchen table, the bowls in front of them filled with gently steaming stew. As soon as Molly enters the room, their eyes find him and he sees their faces curious. Nodding to them as much as to himself, he pulls the chair next to Beau out and settles on it.

“Tomorrow we’ll go and find this mage.” Molly says, voice firm.

“Beau” He looks to his squire, the blue eyes he finds burning with thirst for knowledge and a good brawl, any sort of movement forward.

“Nott” The maid holds her knife tight and her back is straight, face eager.

“I would be honoured if you came with Yasha and I. Beau with his quick fists and even quicker mind, Nott with her sharp daggers and keen eyes. Please, accompany us on this quest.”

Silence falls over the table, then a dark-skinned hand enters Molly’s personal space. Beau is holding his hand out to Molly, waiting. With relief, Molly takes it and shakes firmly, violet and brown skin next to each other. A lighter colour joins them, a small hand laying on top of their joined hands as Nott leans over the table. Molly smiles at her broadly.

“Your real name?” The squire asks.

“Mollymauk Tealeaf, at your service.” They shake again and let go, each returning to their stew.

“Okay, Molly. Now spill, what is it that you’re doing?” Nott wants to know, already shoving a spoon of food into her mouth.

Tapping his spoon against the side of his bowl, Molly answers her.

“I'm at the behest of both the Seelie and and Unseelie courts to keep balance between humans and fey, putting it simply. I’m a knight of both fey and humans, if there is a conflict between both sides, I’m the one supposed to solve it, pass judgment or protect whoever may be in harm’s way.”

“You’re making that up. That would mean you'd have to be everywhere.” Beau furrows his brows.

“He could be.” Yasha says calmly, tilting her bowl to sip.

Beau stares over at her, disbelieving.

“I'm not settling every small disagreement." Molly waves off, pushing a piece of potato onto his spoon.

"To have me enter the stage of a conflict means that it has become the center of attention of the courts from both the human world and the fey wild. I'm sure you now understand how very complicated this quest has now become, my squire."

"So, what's going to happen tomorrow?" Beau asks, one arm resting on the back rest of his chair.

"We find this mage and make sure he won't slip from our grasp again." Molly says grimly.

"I found information hinting at him being involved with the disappearance of at least one fey, one amongst many. We need to find out what has happened to them and I will do anything in my power to catch him and make him talk. So far I've been approaching this quest the wrong way. I thought that it was entirely a matter of solely human involvement, to be solved by humans and my only business would be making sure the fey cat would be securely brought back to its home. But now, with this new information, I can’t keep my passive stance and actions must be taken. And I can tell you, Beau-“

Molly winks at his squire.

“In regard to magic and other unbelievable things, you haven’t seen anything yet."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Update is scheduled for 23rd of December :)


	25. The Hunting Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double length, consider it a Christmas present :)

Feet tap and dust rises into the air, hands stroking over rough fabrics to tighten scarfs, push buttons through holes and fasten leather around the warm horse bellies. Both Molli and Bo nicker and push hot air into the cool early morning air, Molly himself shifts his weight with his horse, quiet and peace swirling inside him. In the face of activity the thrumming and captive energy of the last days has dissipated. Beau rubs his thumbs over Molli’s reigns, Nott holding fast to the squires warm, dark blue mantle. Yasha closes the door to her cottage with a final sound, the latch catching inside the doorframe and a low hum spikes into the air before falling silent again. Their shoes are wet from dew, the moon’s outline just so peeking above the tree canopy to the West.

Without saying a word, Yasha points two fingers in the direction they had come from a few hours ago and leads them along into the twilight. Low hanging luminescent vines, glowing bugs and sparkling leaves rise up to follow the moonlight, lighting up their passage. It’s quiet, but not for the lack of life around them, rather their ears are not made to hear the sounds, but Molly can feel them vibrating through his horns and skull, the trinkets he had affixed to his horns tinkling gently. Nott also picks up on some things, her head swivelling around one way and then the other. After they have left the worst of the thicket, Yasha breaks into a jog and then a moderate run, prompting first Molly and then Beau to urge their horses into an equal run. Twigs crunch under hooves and feet, and while they run, the world around them blurs and Molly’s sword vibrates, hungry and excited. The new waterskin hanging from his belt is full to the brim, their packs filled with food. They had slept for six hours, making sure they were fresh and rested to start their chase.

The planning was heavily depending on Yasha to find tracks for them to follow. So the first step of their journey was to travel back to Bedwyn, finding the spot Molly had last seen the mage. Between that moment and now lay about two days, enough to destroy any tracks, but Yasha was very good at what she did so Molly would worry about it if she would say that it was hopeless.

It felt like flying, the miles underneath their horse’s hooves melting away and suddenly there was a charged quality to the air and a thunderclap, spitting them out into the human world again. Beau’s head whips around to stare at Molly and the knight grins at his squire, knowing that the boy was waiting for him to look human again. But he was still a purple skinned devil creature, pointy teeth gleaming in the dim light.

“Not sure it’s a good idea going around looking like that.” The boy says lowly, looking over his shoulder so make sure they were alone.

Yasha had brought them over at a different spot than before, much closer to Bedwyn.

“What? Don’t fancy my tattoos, Beau?” Molly asks sweetly, rubbing teasingly over his cheek.

“I mean-“ Beau struggles, waving a hand over his whole appearance.

“They’re pretty cool, but you’re purple! And there are clearly horns on your head!”

“Thank you for noticing that I’m very handsome.”

“And your coat is hurting my eyes!”

“It does.” Nott agrees.

Yasha busies herself with tightening the bindings on her boots, softly panting small clouds into the grey air.

“Tell me which one is your favourite tattoo and I’ll change my appearance.” Molly leans forward, tilting his head slightly to make a show of how far down the peacock’s feathers are reaching.

“The point next to your Adam’s apple” His squire says dryly and Molly self-consciously touches there.

“That’s a mole, Beau.” He pouts and a grin spreads over the tan face.

“The peacock is alright.”

“Thank you! But you haven’t seen my snake yet.” The knight wiggles his eyebrows, pulling his collar down.

“I don’t want to see your snake!” Beau snarls, turning Molli harshly with a pull on the reigns.

“It’s a very nice snake.”

“Shut it, Molly! I’m not interested in guy and besides, you’re supposed to be my teacher, knight!”

Pouting, Molly taps the beak of the peacock that he originally wanted to reveal. Then he waves a hand over his body and pulls his human appearance back to the surface.

“Nothing’s ever wrong with looking both ways, Beau. But rest assured, I think you’re very unsexy.”

He receives a rude gesture in turn, then they are off again, seeing how Yasha has already continued to run towards Bedwyn. They bicker a little bit more, then they finally reach the road leading up to the gate. Molly takes the lead, staring from the at the ground. Yasha comes up next to him, her head about the same height as Molly’s knee.

“What are we looking for?” She asks, eyes trained on the ground as well.

“Obviously horse, larger hooves. There was a rider and two full packs on it. Long steps, the horse was running. Should narrow down our choice, most of these tracks are from horses without any weight on their backs. Or from cows.” He comments, pointing to the cloven imprints in the road’s dirt.

“I also reckon he left the road pretty quickly, making for the forest.”

Yasha nods, lowering herself to the ground.

“And you saw him on the road at this spot?”

“The last glimpse of him I had, yes. I could be off by a few feet, it was dark.”

Looking grim and pale, Yasha settles down on one knee, softly trailing her hands over the raised dirt and trampled plants. As long as nobody would come too close to her, she could easily pass as a human without a glamour. Nervously, Molly fiddles with a thread on his coat, looking over the still closed city gates and the empty road behind them, they had explicitly chosen to be here before sunrise, the time of day that most were still asleep but with enough light in the sky to make their endeavour possible.

Yasha slowly makes her way down the road, following one pair of tracks to another, then going back a few feet and starting again, measuring between them with her hand and pressing into the divots to see how deep. The ground has become solid over the night, cold seeping into its pores and freezing the water inside. A smile starts glowing on her face as she starts her fifth set of tracks, carefully mapping it out until it turns off the road.

“I think I found it.” She says, her smile audible.

“This horse has been heavier than the others, distance between the tracks growing larger but also irregular, this horse is not used to breaking into a speed immediately.”

Her eyes follow the almost invisible tracks.

“And track leads straight to the East, very deliberate.”

Her enthusiasm sizzles through the air and Molly feels it prickle down his spine, he turns around to Beau and Nott, who had waited agitatedly in the background, keeping an eye on their surroundings.

“We got him!”

“Really?!”

“Yes! I told you Yasha’s the best!”

They slowly follow the tracks, Yasha leading them in a straight line away from the road. They meet with the first trees and then enter the forest again, riding around obstacles like tiny hills or furrows in the ground, Yasha stopping sometimes to look closely on the ground. But she was always able to confirm that the mage had corrected his course back to the East, though making a slight tilt towards the south. It was wonderfully quiet around them, each one of them tense like a drawn bowstring, ready to strike whenever the mage would come into view.

“He’s had two days, but how well does he know his way through a forest.” Molly wonders aloud, looking down at Yasha.

She nods slowly, head tilted to look up into a tree canopy.

“The ground is becoming wetter, did you notice? We’re close to a marsh. I wonder if…” She starts, turning in the direction the tracks lead them.

“Maybe he’s stuck.” The knight gleefully muses, seeing the man stuck knee deep in mud, ready for him to pluck him out like a carrot.

“If that’s the case, he rides with you.” Beau says, obviously not keen on having a mage covered in mud on his nice chestnut mare.

Their progress becomes louder as the ground becomes muddier and the hooves of their horses make sucking noises as they trod through it. It reeks of wet and mould, sweet fragrance of dead tissue.

“He really went through there.” Nott says, leaning down to flick mud of her shoes.

Molli had stepped into some kind of hollow and the released hair had catapulted it up to cover her belly and her riders’ shoes. Molly doesn’t comment on it, already seeing himself scrubbing Bo down for the better part of the next day. Before he can articulate has similar dislike for the situation but also outline how it was just something they had to push through, voices floated through the air.

“Don’t-“ A gruff voice says, the rest swept away by the wind.

A higher voice answers, but the words were just as indistinguishable. Turning in his saddle, Molly perks up, Yasha following his lead and turning around to take in their surroundings.

“Come on!”

That is definitely louder than before. Settling his hand on his sword, Molly loosens it in its sheath, throwing a leg over his saddle to quickly dismount. Yasha snaps her fingers to get his attention and points over to the marsh, two struggling figures coming into view. One is armed with a stick, pushing it into the mud and pulling forward while the other is just staggering behind.

“They need help.” Yasha simply stated, opening the buckle of her sword and tossing it into Molly’s lap, who groans quietly as its weight settles in his softer parts.

Without another word, she fights her way through the ankle-deep mud, soon reaching the two figures. Beau rides up alongside Molly, looking over quietly but he finds his squire’s staff already assembled and ready.

They see how Yasha is calmly approaching them, then the figure with the stick gestures animatedly, tossing the stick at their companion and straight up hopping onto Yasha’s back. A surprised laugh escapes Molly and they wait for the strange travellers to draw closer. Soon they can distinguish the woman on Yasha’s back and the man walking behind her, both looking tired and covered in mud from the top of their heads down to their feet.

As they are close enough, Molly just grins.

“A damsel in distress I see.” He calls over, letting go of his sword.

The damsel grins and waves at them.

“Hello! Thank you for coming along and helping us!” Then she slides off Yasha’s back and jumps around her.

“And thank you! You’re pretty strong! I'm also really strong!”

Smiling faintly, Yasha nods as the woman flexes her truly impressive biceps, and Molly can't help himself but help her along.

“Our lovely Yasha would never not help a beautiful lady in need.” He comments and winks, Beau next to him spluttering.

His squire really needed to become less prude, Molly decides, throwing the boy a meaningful glare. Beau ignores him, a blush settling high on his cheeks. The man has finally reached them as well, panting.

“And hello good Ser, are you this lady’s travel companion?”

“Indeed.” He says simply, voice deep as his hair, a silver streak breaking through it.

“I’m accompanying Fjord to London, he’s looking for a tutor!”

“A bright mind then.” Molly smiles, staring the man down with new interest.

The mage had fooled more than once with changing his appearance, and those two had clearly come the direction that the man had vanished.

Sliding down from his saddle and still gripping Yasha’s sword, Molly step closer to the two travellers. Not waiting for their reaction, he pulls it out a few inches, holding it up to the man. The reflection in the metal is slightly distorted, but nonetheless still the human he sees standing before him. Then Molly tilts the sword slightly, discreetly looking at the woman’s appearance. And isn’t that a surprise.

Blue skin, horns and a big toothy grin. Looking directly at him.

Molly smiles, meeting the woman’s eyes and winks, sheathing Yasha’s sword again.

“Yasha love, why don’t you help Beau and show him how to find tracks in the mud?”

Sliding off his saddle, Molly hands the sword back to Yasha.

“My lady, would you like some water? Wine?”

“Oh, yes please!” The woman gushes and comes over to him, her smile still bright.

As they have walked around Bo, Molly turns around, addressing the woman in the fey tongue.

“What a nice turn to find a Leanan sìdhe travelling with a simple man. Is he destined for greater things then?”

The woman’s eyes start to glow and her hands quickly close around Molly’s.

“You know my language!”

“Well, we fey in this human world need to stick together, am I right?” Molly grins, finding the woman’s enthusiasm very much infectious.

“My name’s Jester! And you’re totally right, I’m a Leanan sì! How this is so wonderful! What’s your name?”

“A name for a name then.”

Molly takes half a step back to bow.

“Mollymauk Tealeaf, fey knight at your service, my lady.”

Jester giggles and accepts the kiss to the back of her hand.

“Now, what brings you to wade through ankle deep mud?” He asks her, fiddling with his normal water skin.

Jester accepts it eagerly and gulps down a few mouthful. Then she starts talking rapidly.

“Well, you know Fjord and I we were travelling through this nice forest and it was getting dark so we were thinking that maybe we should find somewhere to sleep. I’ve slept on the forest floor before and it was really itchy so I told Fjord that I wouldn’t stop until we found somewhere nice to sleep. And we walked for a very long time and I was singing and just between us-“ She leans forward and Molly leans forward too.

“-he doesn’t know how to sing so she shouldn’t have critiqued my singing as much. He sings like, really badly, but he’s a nice guy so I just ignored him.”

“Rightfully so, I’m sure your singing is sublime with that sweet voice of yours.” Molly smoothly slips in a compliment and Jester blushes.

“Oh, thank you! My momma says I have a very beautiful voice but her voice is like the best you can imagine, when my momma sings everybody falls in love with her!”

“So, you were travelling and it was getting dark?” Molly tries to steer her back on track.

“Ah yes! So it was not long before we heard a cat. It sounded very stressed and it obviously needed help so I ran towards it and there was a tiny hut! It was perfect, I could sleep under a roof and there was even a kitty I could cuddle!”

Molly tenses at the mention of a cat but schools his face to only show how very eager he was for Jester to continue her story.

“When I looked around, there was a horse under one of the trees, very strange! But the cat must have heard us coming because it was making even more noise and then I decided to open the door, but it was locked. Magically!”

Gasping, Molly plays his part and Jester nods, very satisfied with his reaction.

“But you know, I have a few tricks up my sleeve.” Jester grins, wiggling her human fingers.

“So I dispelled the magic and the door was open. There was a ginger cat inside and it was really cuddly, it was nice! Fjord then came in and he was all boring and totally grouchy about that not being a good idea, that something was obviously wrong, but again, I just ignored him. You know Mollymauk-“

“Molly to my friends.” He intercepts, smiling.

“And I do believe we are friends now, Miss Jester.”

Jester coos, grabbing Molly’s hand again.

“Yes we are! Okay, I was petting the sweet kitty, it really liked it a lot, and then suddenly it became a man! A naked man, a little stinky too, but very, very, very naked!”

She giggles and Molly can’t help himself but call out loudly.

“Hah! And then?”

“Fjord tried to kill him but I didn’t let that happen! Really now, Fjord is really handsome and nice, but he’s so boring sometime.” Jester rolls her eyes and behind them Fjord sneezes loudly.

“Bless you.” Nott says.

“Did he tell you his name?” Molly wanted to know.

“Yes, his name is Caleb and he was very nice, a little thin but he liked my pan cakes a lot and he was a nice person and I’m not sure but he had magic too and I think he knew that I’m a fey. He said he’s cursed, you know? To turn into a cat for some time of the day. We talked the whole evening and well into the night, and then we settled down to sleep.”

Cocking his head and looking in the direction that Jester and Fjord had come from, Molly raises his eyebrows.

“And where is Caleb now?”

“Do you know him?” Jester asks, leaning forward.

“A little, yes.” The knight says, behind them Yasha is speaking softly to Beau while the squire fumbles himself through some muffled sentences.

“Well, when we woke up he was gone! But he obviously needs help, Molly! What if he turns into a cat when he’s riding on his horse or when he’s swimming in a lake? He could drown! Or be eaten alive by wild hounds! So I told Fjord that we have to find him!”

“Couldn’t get her off the idea.” Fjord says, having walked around Bo to stand besides Jester.

“So we found his tracks and followed them since morning.”

“You went in the wrong direction.” Yasha calls over to them.

“These tracks point into the marsh, not out.”

Fjord’s cheeks blush deeply and he looks away with a tiny “Oh.” He scratches his head and walks over to Yasha.

“How do you know?” He asks her and Yasha sighs, starting anew for her second pupil.

Turning back to Jester, Molly leans closer.

“I’ve been looking for him because I want to lift his curse.”

Jester’s eyes start to sparkle.

“Really! I want to help!”

“Oh, my lady. That would be most appreciated!” Molly purrs.

“To have your talents as helping us would certainly guarantee us success to break this blasted curse. You see, sometimes Caleb becomes very… confused due to the transformation and one day he just rode off! I need to find him before anything can happen to him! I fear for his life!” He makes a very distressed face.

“Oh, no! We have to find him!” Jester exclaims, tongue peeking out from between her lips as she thinks.

“Do you have something that he touched?” She then asks.

“Uhm- yes. Yes we do, why?”

Vibrating where she stands, Jester grins.

“I can scry on him to see where he is! It’s something a very good friend of mine has taught me! He’s the coolest ever!”

Then her face grows dark.

“But you promise me that you are really trying to help Caleb, alright? No funny business or I won’t help you!” She jabs her pointer finger at Molly, eyes narrowed.

“I swear, I mean Caleb no harm.” Molly offers, one hand lifted in the air while the other remains clutched in Jester’s. Satisfied with his promise, she nods.

“Okay, hand it over. Every second counts!”

Molly can almost not believe his luck, he quickly runs around Bo’s backside to get to his other saddle bag. On his way he almost runs Nott over, only narrowly saving her from trampling by simply lifting her up into his saddle. The maid squeaks indignantly but Molly doesn’t hear her, just rummages through his belongings until he finds the leather collar.

“Here, that…” He stares down at it. How to explain, or better, how to not divulge in detail that the mage had 'worn' it around his neck?

“…Part of the old reigns from his horse, we got him new ones.”

Jester smiles at Molly, taking the leash.

“Molly-“ She singsongs, leaning a bit closer. Molly does as well.

“Did Caleb and you do naughty things together?” She waggles her eyebrows.

Quickly recovering, Molly flutters his eyelashes, a smile playing over his lips.

“I don’t kiss and tell, love.”

They both giggle and Jester settles onto a root, holding the leather in hand.

“Can you keep an eye out for Fjord? He doesn’t know that I’m… me.”

“Of course.” Molly says softly, shooting a pleading glance to Nott. The maid sighs and hops down form Bo.

“Hey, big guy! Come over here and help me get with the horse.”

As Fjord follows Nott, Jester closes her eyes and concentrates. She suddenly becomes tense, her eyeballs moving underneath her eyelids.

“I- I can’t see it very clearly, there’s honestly nothing I can see of Caleb. I can hear water, fast water, but- that’s about all. Wait-“

Molly waits, not daring to move. Then Jester just sighs and opens her eyes.

“No, I can’t see anything, I only heard water.”

“Don’t worry your head, my lady. I’m sure this information will be able to help us.”

With a smile, he leaves Jester sitting where she is and quickly walks over to Yasha.

Yasha is still looking down at Beau, making sure the squire correctly interprets a broken twig.

“I think if it looks like that…than it must have been going that way.”

Lifting his hand, Beau points to his right and Yasha nods, then turns around to Molly.

“Anything new? You look pleased.”

“I think I know where he is.” Molly grins, beckoning Yasha to follow him over to Bo.

Nott meanwhile has been instructing Fjord to lift Molli’s hooves so that she can peel mud and small stones from them. Molly opens his old and stained map, dragging his finger in a straight line over it, towards the East and a tiny bit to the South.

“I must be damned but I think he’s here, Jester said she heard water.”

“Heard water?” Yasha tilts her head, looking at the map.

“Yes, fast waters. Jester is a Leanan sìdhe, did you notice?” Molly hums, circling his finger over the map.

There is the quickwaters they had crossed on their first day away from Lord Belvedere’s castle. The only waters with enough energy to produce sound worthy of fast waters in this direction.

“I say the two of us make headway and push forward. If he’s not there we can regroup.” The knight proposes, tapping his sword.

\--------------------

Basil has started to munch on some of the last bits of hardy grass still growing. Caleb is pulling some apples form his pack and offers them to the horse.

“You helped me a lot friend. Without you, I’d be lost.” He says softly, scratching Basil behind his fluffy ear.

The gelding nickers amicably and gently takes an apple between his teeth. Caleb smiles at him, they made good headway during the night and the first half of the day, Basil really deserved the rest and so did Caleb. They were close enough to the eight line crossing and Caleb could already taste freedom on his tongue-

Rumbling and lighting meet the ground in a fury, shattering the tranquil air out of a clear sky. Blinded by the light, Caleb screams and falls backwards, tossed over by a sudden gust of wind that hits him like solid wall. Basil screams as well, fighting against the reigns Caleb had bound to a tree as a burning smell seeps into the air. Was this a thunderstorm out of nowhere? An anomaly due to the eight line crossing? Caleb’s thoughts whir until he realizes that the weight on top of him has not ceased. Blinking his eyes open, he finds he can’t move his arms and then cold steel meets his throat.

The knight, the Mollymauk, is sitting on his chest, knees pressed into Caleb’s elbows. A gasp gets stuck in Caleb’s throat and horror overcomes him. The knight smiles, smile gentle yet fierce.

“Overjoyed to finally make your acquaintance at long last, Mage Caleb. Mollymauk Tealeaf, at your humble service. And I now consider you my captive.”

Normally, Caleb is not a person prone to swearing. But this situation, in combination with the fearsome woman looming behind the knight's back and those burning brown eyes staring down at him with a dangerous glint…

“Fuck.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is scheduled for 6th of January, have a wonderful time with your friends and families :)  
> I wish y'all a very merry Christmas and a happy new year 2020!


	26. A Given Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late update for this week, this might happen a lot more with university growing more intense by the week at this point.  
> So I sadly won't be able to promise any scheduled updates until this storm blows over.
> 
> Please be patient, I'll write whenever I'm able to :)

Cold metal against his throat drains what sparks of magic are left in his blood, and Caleb feels how he trembles under the watchful gaze of the knight. His large companion holds he sword steady as he works the rope around Caleb’s wrists and ankles, securing a leather collar around his neck.

“In case you decide to change back into a cat.” The Mollymauk hums.

“Though Ginger never tried to run away. Do you not share a personality?”

Deciding to not inform the knight about the very different character his cat possessed in comparison to himself, Caleb averts his eyes to the ground, browning grass and scattered autumn leaves.

Mumbling behind his back draws his attention, then his bindings also start to feel cold, the woman pulling her sword away as it has now become unnecessary. Caleb feels utterly bound in place, half of his blood lethargic and whimpering in the anti-magic. He’d not felt this for a long time and his mind comes to a grinding halt as memories start to press to the forefront, starting to cloud his eyes. He’s shivering more noticeably now. The knight makes a displeased sound with his tongue.

“Yasha, will you take care of firewood? I don’t want him freezing to death.”

Heavy fabric, smelling of herbs both sweet and bitter, lands on Caleb’s shoulders. The contrasting colours and glittering swirls draw his attention and he stares down at the coat now draped over him. It’s a true abomination and whoever had to sew it must have gone blind doing so.

But at least it’s warm and maybe it even smells a little bit nice.

Moving back into his field of view, the Mollymauk starts a firepit, digging into the ground with the jagged end of a sturdy branch, then filling the crude pit with twigs and leaves. Then he takes a sharp edged stone, carving into the branch to produce soft wooly curls, which he gathers together. The knight clanks two fire stones together until sparks fly and land in a bed of dry moss, wood shavings and grass.

Caleb’s shivering grows stronger with the cold from the bindings, he wants to curl in on himself, but his eyes stay transfixed on what the Mollymauk is doing, soaking it up as a distraction from the horrible shadows looming to consume him. Sharp eyes turn to him and the knight studies him for a minute. Tiredly Caleb thinks about what he must look like, unshaven and still dirty from the nightly ride, sweaty and stinking of horse.

In comparison the knight looks fresh as morning dew, an unfairly glossy mass of dark curls on his head and hanging down to almost cover one of his deep brown eyes.

There are many things Caleb wants to say.

How did you find me so quickly? Why do you care? Did Ikithon send you? Is there any hope of negotiating with you to let me go? What is a fey doing here parading as a knight of the round table?

Another surge of cold travels through him and Caleb slumps down a little more into himself. His fey blood is not reacting amicably to the anti-magic bindings.

When he looks up again, the Mollymauk is no longer looking at him but making sure the fire is a roaring inferno, the heat blasting into the surrounding air. While they sit in silence, Yasha returns and unloads a massive amount of firewood.

“They should reach us in the evening.” She says and the Mollymauk nods. He stands and walks over to Caleb, who by now can’t feel his hands or feet anymore, almost grateful to have lost the feeling of the numbing cold there. But he also feels very tired and stretched thin. Part of him wonders who the others are and how many more there will be. Caleb clenches his jaw, staring into the fire and trying to find a solution, a way out. His thoughts are smashed to pieces as fingers push underneath his chin and lift his face up to meet with the gaze of the Mollymauk.

“You’re still cold.” The knight observes, tugging on the coat.

It must be his, Caleb realizes belatedly and notices how hot those fingers are where they press into his skin. The Mollymauk’s gaze is curious, looking Caleb over and then settling the other hand over his forehead.

“He’s icy. And sweating.” He informs his companion, throwing a glance over his shoulder Caleb can’t see.

Another hand descends on him and Caleb shrinks down even more, trying to get away from the unwanted touches and the people that have bound him, will take him back to his nightmare life and he stubbornly lowers his head, willing the lethargy in his blood to take him away and not let him wake up again-

“If I wouldn’t know any better” The woman says slowly, retracting her hand, “ I would say he’s showing signs of magic sickness like a fey would.”

There are hands on his face again and Caleb bristles, baring his teeth at the intrusive touch and glares up at the knight. Those brown eyes flash red and then amber like honey while they quickly catalogue his face, skimming over his features. Then the knight laughs.

“Of course! Yasha, help me unbind him. He is a fey, love. You’re a genius!” He whips around and whispers excitedly into her ear, the woman's forehead crinkling with a frown.

Caleb shudders, his heart starting to pick up speed in his panic.

“But Molly- shouldn’t we-“

Looking over at her, the Mollymauk hums and then crouches low to be at eyelevel with Caleb.

“I suggest you don’t run away again and stay here with me.” The knight says, hands skimming from Caleb’s face down his neck and to his shoulders, gripping tighter before sliding down over his arms. Another weight settles over Caleb and he wants to fight it, but the binding won’t let him, so the suggestion settles over him and it frustrates him to no end.

“Yes.” Caleb grinds out, his first word since he got caught.

“Good, let’s get those bindings off you.”

The knight is awfully cheerful while holding a dagger in his hand.

\---------------

Glancing over to where Molli is trotting along with Fjord and Nott on her back, Beau tries to forget that a very pretty girl is perched behind her in her saddle atop of Bo. Molly had specified that his squire was to ride the stallion, not thinking that Nott could handle the strong animal and Fjord was too unknown to Bo that he would have accepted him as a rider. Jester on the other hand had seemed to become fast friends with the horse, making the decision to partner up with her even easier than it had been while fueled by thoughts of equal weight distribution.

They’re making decent headway, Molly and Yasha had vanished into the tree line.

Ride back to Lord Belvedere’s castle, find the bridge over the quick water we passed on our first day. We’ll be there waiting for you with the mage.

That was what Molly had said, Yasha waiting behind him with her large sword unsheathed and casually pillowed on her massive shoulder. Gods, that biceps bulge…

Beau quickly blinks and corrects Bo’s course, steering him closer to Molli. Jester moves behind Beau, probably looking at the scenery. With her movement her arms and hands on Beau’s middle also move and the touch is electrifying, making Beau’s abdominal muscles twitch and her face flush, body feeling hot and cold at the same time all over.

“So, Mr. Squire, what is it like to be one?” Jester asks sweetly as five minutes have passed, scaring Beau out of her meditation to prevent herself from doing anything stupid.

Like turning around and flirting with Jester and completely embarrassing herself. Beau furrows her brow as the voice in her head sounds suspiciously like Molly’s, and on instinct she chooses to ignore it.

“Well you know, it’s hard work.” She says, lowering her voice into a croon.

“Gotta make sure my knight’s armour is shiny, clean his equipment and keep it in shape, sharpen the sword and the daggers. And then we train.”

Beau turns halfway around in the saddle, catching a look at the stars in Jester’s eyes. Unfairly pretty and cute.

“Somedays it’s really hard, we fight with swords and with axes, but I prefer the staff and close combat with my fists.” Beau grins, lifting her arm and flexing her own biceps.

It’s a very good bulge she thinks. Not close to Yasha’s but Yasha is Yasha and Beau could only hope to ever develop a set of biceps like her. Jester meanwhile laughs and pokes an index finger into Beau’s arm.

“Those are really nice, not bad, Mr. Squire.” She grins.

“Beau, you can call me Beau.”

Beau tries a charming smile and changes the angle of her arm, making the muscles bulge again.

“Okay, Beau.” Jester says, then starts to push up her own billowing sleeve.

“Look, I also have some muscles!” She announces and Beau is ready to look at a normal arm, with some muscle but mostly soft and elegant.

She’s not prepared to come face to face with a biceps larger than her own, making her gasp as Jester flexes.

“I’m really strong.” Jester confirms, slapping a hand on her arm.

“I’m stronger than Fjord!”

“Hey!”

“It’s true!”

Fjord grumbles and Nott grins, sitting in front of him with Molli’s reigns in her hands.

“Sooooo, do you think I might also be able to become a squire with me being just as strong as you?” Jester asks Beau, ignoring Fjords protests.

“Uh-“ Beau starts, looking down at her own hands and digging the nail of her thumb into the leather of the reigns.

“It’s… girls are not meant to become squires. And you’re – uhm-“

Jester pouts.

“That’s stupid. I’m really strong and that should be all that matters.”

Beau couldn’t agree with her more but instead she bites her tongue and shrugs.

“I don’t make the rules.”

“They were probably made by some stuffy old people wanting to ruin the fun.” Jester goes on.

“Yeah.” Beau nods.

“Shitty people.”

\---------------

Caleb pulls the coat tighter around his frame, knees almost close enough to the fire to make his trousers go up in flames. The Mollymauk has elected to sit closer to him, the anti-magic bindings now laying in a neat bundle to the knight’s left.

“Care to hear a story, Caleb?” The knight asks, rolling a twig between his index finger and thumb.

Caleb glances at him from the corner of his eye, trying not to think of how far he could already have travelled, how he could have already performed the ritual to split Frumpkin from him.

“It’s an interesting one, I can guarantee you. Will keep you on your toes and thinking about it well into the night.” The Mollymauk goes on, turning to look over at Caleb and the mage averts his eyes pointedly.

“I’ll take your silence as a resounding yes.”

“Molly-“ The woman intercepts, her face confused.

“It’s the story about a fey that went missing.” The Mollymauk goes on, warmth seeping from his voice with each word.

“It was a fey among many others in fact that went missing and never returned. There was no trace, and no one had seen anything. Or those that had seen were missing as well. Or dead.”

The twig lands in the fire, being consumed instantly.

“The homesteads of those fey were ruined, their partners gone. There were clear signs of foul magic being at play, black goo and burned down walls, evil lurking in the air. And one of those fey was called Willowgast.”

Instantly Caleb feels himself growing still, not daring to breathe for a moment.

“She vanished with her human partner and her loss was mourned far and wide for she had been a very amicable soul and well liked by many. Her hair was spun from copper and gold and her eyes were like deep forest ponds, green or blue like jewels. She’s not been seen for over twenty years.”

His gaze bores into the side of Caleb’s face, eyes reflecting blood red in the light of the fire.

“Until half a moon ago she reappeared again, as an illusion you clad yourself in. And now that I can see your face unobscured, you look very much like her.”

Coming closer and crowding into Caleb’s space, the Mollymauk tilts his head.

“You’re a smart man Caleb, so tell me. Why is it you look like this and know the Willowgast’s face well enough to produce an illusion so perfect? You must have seen her at some point, I would guess. Or maybe even more than just seen her? Making you half fey...”

A furious glint in those eyes burns hotter than the fire in front of Caleb.

Not saying a word, Caleb looks him in the eyes, trying to gauge if the fey could be a helpful asset to his cause if he could sway him to believe Caleb's story. Caleb had not thought the Mollymauk might know about his mother’s circumstances, about the things they did under Ikithon but maybe… Maybe he had a chance to atone with the Mollymauk as a useful tool. He really wished he'd had more time to read up on the Mollymauk, a library or something. Caleb hates being thrown into things unprepared.

“Nothing?” The Mollymauk asks, raising his eyebrows, visibly impatient.

“How frustrating, I was so sure I was onto something there, with you reacting to the anti-magic binding in that way and all, mage.”

Breathing in slowly and controlled, Caleb turns his gaze back to the knight.

“Caleb.” He says hoarsely, throat growing tight.

“My name is Caleb Widowgast. But before that I was the son of the Willowgast and her partner Leofric Ermendrud.”

The Mollymauk waits for a second, then jumps on his feet.

“How wonderfully dreadful, just marvelous. Yasha, I need a drink!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your support <3  
> See you next time :)


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